


Surrender

by The_Kinky_Pet



Series: Surrender [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, D/s, Dirty Talk, M/M, Romance, Safe Sane and Consensual, Virginity, past homophobia, prompt: loving dom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-12-13
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:21:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 27,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Kinky_Pet/pseuds/The_Kinky_Pet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’d want him to take control.  I’d want him to tie me down, pin me in place so I could barely move.  I’d let him tell me what to do and I’d like it because it was what he wanted; I wouldn’t have to think about it, just obey.  I’d kneel at his feet and I’d beg him for it. . . I want to surrender.”</p><p>“Tony, there’s only one person I trust that much.”</p><p>Steve slid to his knees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for joining me for Part II of “Permission to Surrender!” (If you missed that story, I suggest going back and taking a look, since this second story probably won’t make much sense without it. The summary is a flashback to that story...) I’m so happy to be writing this and so very pleased and touched to hear that other people have been enjoying it too. Thank you! 
> 
> In re: this chapter, just a few words: I started “Permission to Surrender” with Steve far along in the process of self-acceptance as a gay man and a submissive. For him to reach that point took a lot of courage and hard work, but it wasn’t the story I set out to tell. That said, even when one is far along the road of self-acceptance, some things remain very challenging and emotionally difficult.
> 
> This chapter is dedicated to my friend, A---, who recently came out to her parents. I’m so happy for you, love. (Her girlfriend will now be spending Christmas with them at the Parsonage. Yay! All is well.)

Steve’s heart was pounding, the urgent tattoo of fight or flight. 

“Thanks for coming,” Steve began awkwardly. “It isn’t mission related. I just, there’s something I need to tell you all.” His voice sounded calm, but he was pretty sure his smile looked strained. Natasha and Clint were eerily poker-faced, Thor openly curious, and Bruce was smiling. (Huh?) They sat in a row on Tony’s absurdly long couch looking up while Steve hovered. He forced himself to sit down in an armchair across. 

“Aren’t we gonna wait for Tony?” Clint asked, glancing at the door.

(Shit. Am I blushing?)

“Er, no. He already knows.” Steve took a deep breath. (Start over.)

“I need to tell you something. I probably should have told you sooner. It’s not that I don’t trust you, it’s just something I’ve had to struggle with.”

(Thinking of another man—always nameless, faceless-- hand around his cock in the dark, coming with a rush of shame. . . . It’s sick! You’re sick! Don’t think about anyone you know—don’t insult their friendship. . .)

Steve clenched his fists and forced himself to lift his eyes from the carpet.

(Curled up in an armchair in the Tower, catching up on world history, reading about “gay rights” . . . It had felt as remote and unreal as Asgard. . . )

Steve shook himself and focused on the present. (There’s nothing wrong with me. *Nothing* wrong with me. Nothing wrong with *us.*) He took a deep breath. (These are my friends.)

“I hope that . . .” Steve continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “No, I *trust* that what I’m about to tell you, won’t change how you think of me, as a friend or as a commander.” 

“This isn’t a conversation we could have had when I was a soldier . . . before, but a lot has changed since then, so I want you to know that--” (Shit, shit, shit.) It was hard to breathe. “That--” Bruce was doing some sort of smile-frown thing, and the others looked concerned. 

Nasty, cruel words from the past were closing in on him, crowding out what he wanted to say.

(Deep breaths. )

“Hey, Steve? Babe, you didn’t tell me where we’re going, so I don’t—“ Tony wandered into the living room. He was freshly showered, wearing a tank top and slacks, and he had three shirts, two jackets and a tie laid over his arm. He took in the sight of the Avengers sitting seriously on the long couch. Tony took a step back. “Uh. Sorry.” He glanced at Steve, then looked worried and said softly, “Thought you’d be done. Wish you’d let me, ah—” Tony cut himself off uneasily.

(I know. I should have let you be here. I meant to be done. I couldn’t. I panicked. I’m sorry I’m late. I--)

Steve glanced at the clock. Then blinked. Then stared. (I’m not late?)

“Tony, it’s six forty-five.” 

Tony blinked. “Yeah. You said to be ready at seven, and I didn’t know what to wear.” 

“Tony, you’re *early.*” 

Steve stared.

(You didn’t forget! You always forget. I was going to drag you out of the workshop and push you into the shower at ten after. And I was okay with that!)

Tony huffed. “Well if *this* is the reaction I get for punctuality, it won’t happen again.” 

“Oh my God!” Clint cried. “You’re dating Tony!” 

Steve’s stomach lurched and his attention snapped back to the Avengers on the couch: Clint’s mouth was hanging open; Bruce was grinning at him; Thor looked wildly hopeful but uncertain; and Natasha’s lips had twitched up just slightly and was there perhaps a soft look in her eyes? 

Tony came over and laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder. 

(This wasn’t going according to plan, but then, what did?) 

Steve nodded and smiled at his team. The panic was receding. He reached up to rest his hand on Tony’s.

“Um, well, first I was trying to tell you that I’m gay, then that Tony and I are together, but I seem to do everything out of order.” 

Tony leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. (Oh my God. In front of the team!) Steve blushed, but it thrilled him. (Not hiding. Never again.) 

“Admit it, you like doing things out of order.” 

(Yeah, okay. More blushing. Shit.)

“May the gods of your people bless this union with joy!” Thor cried, leaping up and pulling Steve from his chair to lift them both in one of his crushing hugs. 

“Mazel tov,” Bruce said, still grinning. Then he added, looking at Tony over his glasses, “And Tony, please remember in future, *I’m always right.*” 

“Yeah, yeah, Brucie,” Tony waved at him. “I’ll give you this one, though you never stated an explicit hypothesis. You just dropped not-as-subtle-as-you-thought *hints* at your hypothesis. So, actually, no-- you can’t have full credit.” 

Thor’s cell phone started to play “Flight of the Valkyrie” and he boomed, “Jane! Glad news!” before rushing from the room to take her call.

(The clamoring voices of the past quieted.) 

“Hey, does this mean we get to fight over who gives Tony the first shovel speech?” Clint called. 

“What’s a shovel speech?” Steve asked once he caught his breath from Thor’s embrace. 

Clint leapt up and clapped Steve on the back. “You know, the traditional ‘hurt Steve and they’ll never find your body’ speech.”

(What!?)

“Tony would never hurt me,” Steve said indignantly. “And why would you *threaten* Tony? That’s terrible!”

Tony laughed. “Calm down, Cap. It’s tradition! Besides, they don’t mean it. Er, I think. Mostly.” Tony was giving Clint and Natasha a fake frightened look and backing away. Then Tony changed the subject, waving the shirts in Steve’s face. “But seriously, where are we going and what am I wearing, O Captain my Captain?” 

“That’s the only line of Walt Whitman you know, isn’t it?” Steve asked, examining Tony’s shirts. Then he added as an afterthought. “And, you know the Captain in that poem is President Lincoln and he’s just been assassinated, right?”

“Fine! See if I try poetry on you again. From now on, I’ll call you my little closed-loop controller. Or start telling you that you’re the exponential stability to my marginal stability!”

Bruce laughed. Steve smiled and said, “I don’t know what that means, Tony, but it sounds quite sweet.” Steve kissed Tony on the cheek. (Oh my God. I can kiss you. I can kiss you, right here in the living room. In front of our friends.) “Green shirt, no tie.” Tony nodded and sauntered off. Steve called after him, “And you’ll need your leather jacket!” 

“As you wish!” 

Steve shoved his hands in his pockets and watched Tony walk away. Natasha appeared at his elbow. 

“Cap?” 

“Yes?” 

“I’m very happy for you.” She glanced over her shoulder at the door Tony had just exited. “Be good to him.” Then she added before Steve could protest. “I know you will be.” 

“Thank you.” 

Natasha smiled and reached out to touch Steve’s shoulder very lightly for a moment, then slid away.

“Glad you got it all sorted out,” Bruce said, shuffling in that awkward way of his.

“Thanks,” Steve smiled, then added, “About this morning—I’m sorry I didn’t tell you then, I just—“ 

Bruce waved him off. “Nah, then wasn’t the time.” He shrugged. “The pancakes were delicious, though.” He smiled. “Thanks for that.”

“Wait! Cap made breakfast and I missed it?” Clint said. “Well shit. Hey, if you dating Stark means pancakes, I’m all in favor.” 

“Um, thanks?” Steve shook himself. “It won’t change anything in the field. We’re still a team and it won’t affect our work.” 

“Sure. We know that.” Clint shrugged. “And, you know we really don’t give a shit that you’re gay, right? It’s cool.” Clint clapped him on the shoulder again and wandered out after Natasha. 

Steve stood staring for a moment, lost in jumbled thoughts.

“Steve?” Bruce said. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve said and it sounded breathless and a little surprised. “That was . . .”

Bruce laid a hand on Steve’s shoulder and squeezed. 

“Fine?” Bruce asked. “Because it really is. Fine.”

Bruce squeezed Steve’s shoulder again then leaned in to give him a strange little half-hug. It felt like acceptance and support, but awkward nevertheless. (Because, well-- *Bruce.*) “Er, yeah. Well, have a nice night, Steve.”

“Thank you, Bruce.”

With a nod, the scientist shuffled out of the living room. 

Steve took a deep breath and smiled. He had a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I rewrote this chapter 9 times. I have finally decided to post it so I don't rewrite it 19 times more and thus never move on to their first date, Avengers Assembling, the tantalizing spreadsheet, and new inventions Tony is working on for Steve.... I, uh, hope it worked. Yeah.)
> 
> Thank you for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So *this* is our first date.” Steve looked down at his pizza, then peeked up at Tony and added with a bashful smile, “This is my first date.”

“All ready?” Steve asked, smiling as Tony approached. (Damn, he looked good!) Steve was wearing a fitted blue dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and Tony had never been more grateful that he’d introduced Steve to his tailor—I mean, *nobody* is built like Captain America, so it’s not like ready-to-wear clothes fit him at all. 

“Ready and willing!” Tony shrugged into his leather jacket and grinned. 

Once they stepped into the elevator, Steve leaned back against the wall, closed his eyes, and let out a shuddering sigh. Tony reached out uncertainly and wrapped Steve in his arms. Immediately, Steve pressed his face against Tony’s neck breathing deeply and slowly. Tony stroked Steve’s back for several long moments.

“They really don’t care,” Steve finally whispered against Tony’s skin. “It really is okay.”

Steve’s voice sounded raw. Tony held him close and whispered, “Yeah, it is.” He ran his fingers through Steve’s hair. 

And if there was something wet against Tony’s neck, seeping into the collar of his shirt, they didn’t say anything about it. Tony just kept giving Steve slow, firm caresses he hoped were reassuring. The elevator had long since reached the garage.

After a few minutes, Steve gave Tony a hard squeezed, then threw his shoulders back and stepped away. The elevator doors opened. 

Steve cleared his throat. “I can’t believe Clint wanted to give you a shovel talk.” Steve shook his head, frowning. “And he thought everyone else would too!” 

“Seriously, Steve, it’s just a rhetorical gesture.” Tony rolled his eyes and followed Steve. “It’s a ‘look, I care about my friend and I’ve got his or her back’ kind of thing. It’s mostly a joke anyway.”

“Threatening people isn’t funny,” Steve insisted. “Besides, why are you getting a shovel talk? They’re *our* friends. So I should get it too.” 

“Yeah, well. I’ve got a reputation.” Tony shrugged. “And I’m older-- I’ve *lived more,* gotten more experience, all of that.” Tony started past Steve, heading for his garage dock. Steve reached out to catch Tony’s hand.

“That doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt,” Steve said, very softly and seriously. 

(Oh fuck. This was getting heavy again already. Fucking Barton.) 

Steve pulled him close. “We may hurt each other sometimes, but we won’t mean to, so it will be okay.” 

Steve ran his fingers through Tony’s hair and kissed the top of his head, his cheek, then breathed softly into his hair, “We’re gonna be so good to each other.”

Tony’s heart leapt. (Steve! I--) Tony was still struggling, fumbling around for words, when Steve kissed his cheek again and pulled away. He glanced around.

“Tony, where’s your helmet?” he asked, sounding put out. 

Tony grinned and sauntered over to his garage dock. 

“What? No! Tony, you can’t wear the Iron Man helmet instead of a proper motorcycle helmet. Absolutely not!”

***

It appeared to be a pizzeria pub. Just a little hole-in-the-wall joint in Brooklyn with exposed brick, dim lighting, and very little seating. A neon speakeasy sign winked at Tony through the window as Steve held the door for him. Behind the oak-paneled bar, a striking, bearded man covered in tattoos was pulling a pint of ale. He nodded at Steve and waved to the only empty table in the little place—the one set apart from all the others, wedged into the corner next to the bar. There was a note written on scrap paper in block letters: “For Steve, 7:45.” Tony glanced back at the handwritten sign on the bar—yep, ‘no reservations.’ (Ha! I’m not the only one who gets special treatment at restaurants!)

Steve and Tony took a seat at what was apparently their table and a moment later, the bearded guy was bringing Steve a beer. 

“Steve.” He nodded as he set it down. 

“Jake,” Steve said, nodding back. “Thanks for the table. It’s really swell.” Steve smiled. “Jake, this is Tony.” 

Tony and Jake shook hands. “Nice to meet you.”

“Likewise. Give you a few minutes with the menu?” Jake asked. Steve nodded. 

(Huh. That’s it? Does he not recognize us or just not care?)

“Tony? Start you with a drink?” Jake asked, eyebrows raised. 

“A glass of something red and good. Surprise me.” 

“Malbec?”

“Sure.” 

Jake walked away and Steve turned to Tony with a smile.

(And here we go!) 

***

At dinner things were oddly, comfortingly the same:

1) They could still bicker without fighting:

“I’m not kidding, Steve. You drive like a maniac on that thing.”

“I obeyed all the traffic laws.”

“Really? I find that hard to believe. You were at least speeding!”

“I wasn’t! I take motorcycle safety very seriously.” Steve grinned at Tony and gave him his most earnest look: “Besides—you know how law abiding I am in every respect.” 

Tony gave an incredulous little snort. “It felt really fast.”

“That’s ‘cause it’s a motorcycle.” 

“I feared for my life!”

“I’m a very safe driver! And you were wearing a helmet. A proper *motorcycle* helmet.”

“Oh, don’t start. The Iron Man helmet is way safer than anything mass produced.”

“Show off. And you say you hate it when the press follows you around. That helmet wasn’t designed to attract attention *at all.*”

“Hey! I wore the stupid helmet, didn’t I? And how can you be giving me a hard time about helmets, Mr. First-Rides-in-the-21st-Century-with-NO-HELMET-AT-ALL!?”

Steve smiled sweetly. “And you’re the one who showed me the error of my ways.” 

2) They still couldn’t agree about pizza toppings.

“Number twelve? Pear, goat’s cheese, and arugula?” Steve frowned. “Isn’t arugula a type of lettuce?”

“Field green, you philistine.”

“Tony, those things are for salad. Why would you put them on a pizza?”

“I thought you liked trying new things!”

“It’s a *pizza,* Tony!”

3) They still weren’t tired of arguing about superheroes:

“No! Absolutely not, Steve. Hulk would totally smash Superman—if Superman existed, which he doesn’t.” 

“Tony, you’re just bitter because the Superman merchandise is outperforming Avengers stuff this quarter.” 

“Well, excuse me, if I find it a little insulting that *real* heroes are being beaten on the commercial market by a fictitious alien who would *so totally loose* to the Hulk!” Tony waved his hands, narrowly avoiding his glass of wine. “And our stuff raises money for children’s hospitals and disabled veterans! They’re just using the money to fuel more shitty Batman movies.”

Tony shook a slice of pizza at Steve— “And, no, just no! You could seriously crush Batman with your pinkie, so don’t even start!”

4) They could still drop into a comfortable silence, just enjoying their food. 

But now, they sat catty-corner, and in the silence Steve sometimes bumped his knee against Tony’s, then smiled. And when Steve left his hand on the table, Tony sometimes gave it a little squeeze before grabbing another breadstick or picking up his glass of wine. 

***

The pizza was delicious and the modest Malbec Jake suggested had just the right amount of spice to it. They’d eaten two baskets of breadsticks already and had nearly finished demolishing their pizzas. Instead of cheesy, stereotypical Italian restaurant music, Piaci’s was playing a strange mix—maybe Jake’s ipod on shuffle, which gave them Dylan, White Stripes, Rolling Stones, and some weird, ambient Icelandic band. Tony was very pleased. 

Steve was staring at Tony and smiling. He’d stopped eating. In fact, he hadn’t moved or perhaps even blinked for several rapt minutes. He was just starting at Tony with this *look* on his face.

Tony nudged him with his knee. “What?” He waved at Steve’s smiling face. “Earth to Steve!” 

“Huh? Oh. Sorry. I was staring, huh?” Steve looked just a little embarrassed, but wholly unapologetic. “I was just thinking, this is nice. Really nice.” Then he clarified, “Being on a date with you.” 

Tony smiled. “Yeah. This is nice.”

“I mean,” Steve rushed on, “we’ve had dinner out together before plenty of times and I used to wish they were dates. Sometimes it felt like they were, like you were my fella, but they weren’t really. So *this* is our first date.” Steve looked down at his pizza, then peeked up at Tony and added with a bashful smile, “This is my first date.”

(Oh fuck! Mine, mine, mine! Ok—breathe, Tony.)

“Good thing you don’t seem to mind going backwards,” Steve said with a grin. “First date after first—“ he hesitated, glancing around, “-- *other things.*” Steve took a sip of his beer then set it down suddenly. He leaned forward. He was blushing but mostly just looking curious as he asked: “Tony, do you think I’m still a virgin?” 

Tony nearly spewed wine across the table, but managed to choke on it instead. 

“Shit! Tony, I’m sorry, I—“ Steve raised a hand to thump Tony on the back, then stopped himself. Tony sputtered. 

Once he’d recovered, Tony shook his head. “Just surprised me a little there. But to answer your question,” Tony gave an indifferent shrug, “Just depends on how you define sex, I guess.” 

“How do you define it?” Steve asked immediately. (And wasn’t Steve just adorable when he was inquisitive?)

Tony shrugged. “I never thought about it much. For me, it happened all at once, so I never wondered about shades of virginity.” Steve raised his eyebrows, obviously curious, so Tony continued. “It was a party at MIT. I was drunk and sixteen, got kissed and got laid all on the same night.” He smiled a little ruefully. “What can I say, I was a teenager—it was over pretty quickly.” Tony frowned. “Mary? Steph? Who knows, but I’m pretty sure she was a biochemistry major.” 

And Steve had that absurd sad puppy look on his face, made all the more horrible by the way he was obviously trying *not* to make that face. 

“Hey, don’t,” Tony said, waving it away. “I was happy enough. Pretty psyched about it, really. I mean, hey, I was a teenager! I got laid! Seriously, no big deal. But, ah, anyway,” Tony struggled forward, reaching for his wine again. “Ask Pepper sometime. She can tell you all about the way that the obsession with virginity is the direct product of a patriarchal society’s obsession with paternity and property.”

Steve blinked. (And, yep, there it was, right on cue—the “I’m remembering that and will look it up later” face. Tony kinda loved that face.)

“But since I have too much property already and I’m not gonna knock you up . . . ” Tony added with a grin. He shrugged, “I think you should define it however you like. What we already did could count. Or you could hang on to the v-word until you’ve tried everything that interests you on the spreadsheet I made for you.” 

“Okay,” Steve said pensively. He drank some more of his beer and nibbled a few more bites of his (totally boring pepperoni) pizza.

“About the spreadsheet,” Steve said. “It looked, ah,” Steve toyed with his beer, “really interesting, but I only got a quick glimpse of it in the workshop before. . . ” he looked down, “ah, we were busy doing *other things.* Even at a glance, there were a bunch of terms on it I’d never heard of before or didn’t make sense to me.”

Steve took another sip of beer, then frowned. “I thought scat was a jazz thing.”

And, yeah, Tony should just stop trying to drink while Steve was talking about sex. It went poorly. Choking was no fun.

“Shit!” (Haha. “Shit”) “Tony, sorry. You okay?”

“Ah, Steve?” Tony said once he’d recovered. “Shall we take this conversation elsewhere?” 

Steve blushed again and smiled. “Yeah. Good idea. I’ll get the check.”

Steve insisted on buying dinner. And he paid with *cash.* (It was adorable.)

***

Back at the Tower, Steve walked Tony to his bedroom door.

“Thank you, Tony,” he said, smiling and standing very near. “I had a wonderful time.” 

(Uh, is he following some sort of official first date script or something?)

“Yeah, me too,” Tony said. (Hm. Guess I’m following it too.) They stood for a moment in silence, but silence was bad so Tony rambled on, “That place was great! Of course you’re a regular at the modest but awesome little place the food critics have overlooked. Yep, just like you—modest, awesome, initially overlooked, but, hey, I hope not overlooked anymore, ‘cause I’m totally looking at you. And that Jake guy was quite striking and seemed to look at you too. He your type? ‘cause I might get jealous. I mean, he had way more facial hair than I do, so if that’s a thing for you I might be willing to consider--”

Steve looked more and more amused as Tony rambled (for his amusement), but then he reached out to rest one hand against the doorframe, crowding Tony’s personal space. (Which was fine.) Tony fell silent. 

“Tony?” Steve asked, leaning closer.

“Yeah?”

Steve’s head dropped and he kissed Tony very softly on the lips, then asked in a whisper, “May—may I come in?”

Tony fumbled for the doorknob. “Oh hell yeah!” 

They stumbled into Tony’s bedroom and shut the door. Tony pushed Steve firmly against the wall and—

“AVENGERS ASSEMBLE”

Ah, fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I won't be able to sustain a chapter a day (or anything like it) but was so excited to finish this chapter I couldn't wait to post it. Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Also, if you are ever in Fort Bragg, CA, I highly recommend Piaci Pizzeria. :-)


	3. Chapter 3

“Twenty-seven!” Hawkeye called into the com. 

“Thirty-five, good Hawk!” Thor yelled back.

“Forty,” Black Widow answered. 

“Have you guys been watching Lord of the Rings again?” Iron Man asked. “No don’t answer, I already know.” 

“Seriously though, these are the stupidest evil robots ever.” Iron Man whined. “I mean, why did they even call us in for this shit? It’s so easy it’s like playing a video game with your eyes closed.”

“You’re just pissed ‘cause they cock blocked you,” Hawkeye called. 

“Less chatter, guys!” Captain America barked, then added, “And ew, Clint. Don’t be vulgar.” 

Iron Man laughed, but wisely said nothing. 

***

It was 4 am by the time they got back to the Tower, dirty and exhausted, but unharmed. Steve and Tony lingered in the hallway after the others had said good night and vanished to their suites.

(And, seriously, stupid fucking robots. Not even proper Doombots —not that Doom made quality robots either— but seriously? An outbreak of “I hate my life and my dissertation and can’t bear to face my advisor and have been in the Columbia labs for waaaaaay too long” graduate-student-angst-bots. What the fuck? They should have just called campus security. So what if the little things self-replicated like tribbles.)

“What an end to your first date, huh?” Tony said with a wry smile.

“Yeah,” Steve smiled and shrugged. “Probably better get used to it though. I mean, we’re *us,* right?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” 

“Tony, I, uh,” Steve mumbled. “I’m really tired.”

(Huh? Oh! Right.)

“Oh, hey, me too.” Tony smiled. (Reassurance!) “It’s fine. Rain check. Definitely a rain check.”

“Yeah. Good. But, uh, I was thinking maybe we could. . .” All the confidence Steve had shown earlier, against this very doorframe, had now vanished. “Would it be okay for me to come in? I mean, just to sleep with you? I mean, to sleep?”

Tony blinked. (Oh!)

“Yeah, sure.” Tony opened his mouth—(you’re always welcome)-- and said, “Yes. Yes, of course. Um, pajamas?”

Steve nodded, obviously relieved. “Yeah. Be right back.” 

*** 

Somehow, Steve looked even more gigantic when he was barefoot and wearing his pajamas. Sure, it made sense to be built like that as a brave super-soldier or a veritable pin-up boy, but looking tired, casual, in blue flannel it was just . . . odd. (You look so human, so normal like this…I should be used to it by now, but . . . )

Tony smiled. “You just gonna stand there, babe, or you gonna come in?” 

Steve shut the door behind him and shuffled over to Tony’s bed. He’d never been in Tony’s bed before. Last night, they’d fooled around at Steve’s. Tony watched him-- this felt like a Big Step. Tony threw back the covers and patted the bed. Steve smiled and climbed in. (God, they looked like something from a TV show from the fifties, with their serious-looking pajamas. climbing into bed without touching. Except gay. So, really, not like the ‘50s at all…) 

Steve leaned over and kissed Tony’s cheek, then rolled on his side and yawned, snuggling down into his pillow. Tony stared at him, leaning against the headboard. 

“Tony?” Steve asked sleepily. “Aren’t you gonna--?”

Tony blinked and started to settle down next to him. 

“Mmmm?” Steve murmured. (And was that just a vocalized sigh or was he trying to say something? ‘cause it’s totally unclear.) Steve reached out to pull Tony’s arm around him-- Steve wanted to be little spoon.

Steve wanted to be little spoon, even though he was so much bigger than Tony. And, frankly, it was a little awkward. More than a little. Trying to reach up and around put Tony’s shoulder at a painfully weird angle. (Damn, Cap had wide shoulders and a barrel chest!) Tony squirmed. Eventually, Tony propped up on a pillow, and he felt a little silly like that, but he was glued to Steve’s back, arms wrapped around him, breathing in the smell of his hair, and then Steve reached up to clutch his hand, and it was just fine. 

“Good night, Tony,” Steve sighed. (And that sounded a lot like contentment, didn’t it?)

“Good night, Steve.” 

***

Tony’s first thought on waking was an excited and very sexy series of numbers that didn’t really make sense in the absence of the dream they’d been a part of. Tony’s next thought was, “It’s really warm.” Then, “Of course it is. Because Steve.” (Wait. Wait!) Tony fumbled uncertainly towards consciousness . . .

“Tony?” Steve whispered so quietly it was little more than a breath against his neck. (A very hot, sexy breath.) 

“Tony? Are you awake?” (And, was there something eager and impatient about Steve’s voice, even whispering that quietly?) Steve squirmed against him, fidgeting around in Tony’s arms. (Hel-lo and good morning, morning erections!)

“Mmmmm,” Tony murmured, eyes still shut. He shifted against Steve, holding him close, savoring the long expanse of his warm body. Steve ran his fingers over Tony’s pajamas in a caress, skating down Tony’s shoulder, his chest, his side, then coming to rest on his hip.

“Are you awake?” Steve asked breathlessly, a little louder. 

“Shhh. . . ‘m sleepin,’ ” Tony muttered, words blurry. “ ‘m havin’ a good dream.” Tony ran his fingers lazily through Steve’s hair and tried to suppress a smile. “Can’t wake up . . . ‘m dreamin’ Cap’n America’s in bed with me . . .”

Steve let out a little huff against Tony’s neck and arched into him more obviously. “That’s funny,” Steve whispered back. “I was dreaming that I seduced Iron Man.” 

“Mmmmm. Funny,” Tony murmured. He stretched and smiled, eyes still closed. This was a good way to wake up. 

And then Steve was pressing wet little kisses against Tony’s neck and shoulder, across his chest, then down Tony’s stomach, and it was rapidly turning into an even better way to wake up. Steve hovered, caressing Tony’s hips with his large hands.

“Can I?” Steve asked him. (Like Tony’d say no!) 

“Yeah,” Tony breathed softly, lifting his hips so Steve could pull off his pajama bottoms. Steve flung them on the floor, then quickly added his own pjs to the pile, before turning his attention back to Tony. 

“Mmmm,” Steve murmured as he nuzzled Tony’s crotch with his face, rubbing his cheek across Tony’s balls and cock. Steve’s breath was hot against his skin. 

Steve licked Tony’s cock, a firm, wet swipe of tongue that felt utterly luxurious. He did it again, teasing Tony, then lightly caressed Tony’s balls. 

“Ah!” Tony cried, flinching away from him. 

“Bad?” Steve asked looking up, eyes wide with concern. 

Tony shook his head. “Fine, just—tickled. You have to be firm with them don’t . . . don’t tickle.” 

Steve nodded and looked at Tony’s crotch with new concentration. He palmed Tony’s balls assertively, a little too hard for a moment, before easing up. 

“Yeah,” Tony muttered. “Like that.” 

Steve rewarded him by returning his mouth to Tony’s cock and taking it in his mouth. (oh yeah!) Steve circled the head with his tongue a few times before easing down to take as much in as he could, his lips a firm pressure. He hollowed his cheeks and sucked gently as he moved, slowly and cautiously, no discernible rhythm. (wet . . . hot . . . wonderful. . . )

“Mmmm.” 

(Oh!)

Tony propped up suddenly to watch Steve who had just *moaned* while *sucking his cock.* (Oh fuck!) Steve’s eyes were closed and his hand kept twitching where it rested on Tony’s hip. 

Steve stroked his balls and Tony jerked up a little, then tried to hold still. (Yeah, rude to choke your partner. Also, diminishes the chances of repeat blowjobs.)

Steve stroked him again and sucked harder. Tony flopped back against the pillows. “Fuck!”

Tony watched, mesmerized by the sight of his erection disappearing between Steve’s now swollen lips. 

(Was Steve *smiling* around a mouthful of cock?)

“Oh, Steve, yeah,” Tony murmured, hands fisting in the blankets. (Yeah . . . oh, yeah . . . wait, no, don’t slow down!) 

Steve reached up, fumbling for Tony’s hand. Tony laced their fingers together, happy to have something to hold on to, but Steve was urging Tony’s hand lower and slipping his fingers free. He dragged Tony’s hand to his head. Steve let go and Tony carded his fingers gently through Steve’s hair, petting him as he worked Tony’s dick. 

A moment later, Steve let out a little noise and grabbed at Tony’s hand again. As Steve moved his mouth down Tony’s cock, he pressed Tony’s hand *hard* against his head, then as Steve slid back up, he curled his fingers around Tony’s to pull his hair as he moved. 

Tony gasped, then cried, “Oh fuck!”

(Do you really want what I think you want?)

Tony pushed Steve’s head, a gentle pressure urging him down, and Steve moaned again, a loud noise muffled by Tony’s dick in his mouth. Tony curled his fingers in Steve’s hair and pulled as he moved back up. Steve worked the head with lips and tongue, sucking and lapping, until Tony (careful! careful!) pushed him back down his cock. Tony could hear Steve breathing heavily through his nose. 

Steve moaned again. 

(Oh fuck. You really want me to fuck your mouth . . . oh, god. . . )

Tony moaned, then bit his lip. He took a calming breath. (Go on. Take control. He wants you to.)

Tony pushed and pulled Steve’s head up and down on his cock. (Amazing. Beautiful.) Steve’s body rocked gently as Tony moved. Tony dragged his eyes from Steve’s mouth around him and looked lower. The sight was nearly enough to send him off then and there—Steve had a fist curled around his dick, pulling and stroking as Tony moved his head. 

Tony pushed him down firmly and pulled up fast, watching as Steve mirrored the motion with his hand. (Oh fuck!)

“You like that?” Tony asked, voice low and filthy. Steve moaned. “You’re beautiful, Steve, with your mouth full of my cock.” 

Push, pull. Push, pull, a little harder.

“You love it, don’t you? Taking my cock like this?” 

Steve’s hand sped up and he was making a steady stream of desperate little noises. (Oh fuck! Steve!) 

“You want me to fuck your mouth,” Tony growled.

“Mmmmm!”

Push, pull, push, pull, push—(Shit, shit, careful, don’t choke him!) Tony tightened his fingers in Steve’s hair, then let go. 

“Oh fuck! Steve! If you don’t stop, I’m gonna come, I’ll—“ 

Steve grabbed Tony’s hand and pressed it to his head again. He sucked *hard,* moaning and fucking his hand. Tony clenched his fist in Steve’s hair and shoved him down on his cock and --

“Ah, ah! Fuuuuck!”

Tony tensed, arched, and came shooting pulse after pulse of hot cum into Steve’s wet mouth. (Oh, oh! He’s swallowing, he’s--!) Something hot spattered against Tony’s thigh and it was hard to breathe and everything was white and blinding with pleasure. 

Tony was still gasping and heaving as Steve lifted his head, a dazed expression on his face and Tony’s cum leaking from the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh, fuck, Steve, come here,” Tony panted and yanked him up the bed. He licked the come from Steve’s swollen lips and thrust his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tasting himself there, salty and bitter. They kissed, frantic and filthy, panting into each other’s mouths.

Little by little, the kisses slowed and they slumped against each other, taking long, deep breaths. 

“Oh fuck, Steve,” Tony murmured against his hair. “You’re like a force of nature.** Jesus! Are you trying to kill me with sexual pleasure? Are you an incubus? God, you’re amazing . . .”

Steve chuckled and nuzzled Tony’s neck, snuggling into his arms and wrapping a leg around Tony’s. They laid sleepily together, exchanging slow, lingering touches, for long pleasant minutes.

Eventually Tony let out a deep chuckle. “My God, you’re adorable.” He kissed Steve on the forehead. “I love that you always *ask* before giving me a blowjob. Like I’m gonna say ‘no’!” 

Steve shrugged. “You always can say no.”

“Steve, I’m a man being offered a blowjob,” Tony replied with a wry smile. “I’m never gonna say no.” 

Steve huffed. “Well, I hope that’s not entirely true,” Steve said. (Huh?) “I, uh, hope you’d say no to someone else.”

(Oh shit!)

“Yes! Yes, of course! Steve,” Tony said, floundering and tripping. (Shit!) “I meant to *you.* I mean, now that we’re together. No, of course, I wouldn’t, someone else. Not when we’re . . . I mean, I assume we’re, ah, exclusive.” 

(Oh fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck. Come on. Words, Tony. In actual sentences.)

Steve lifted his head, frowning. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I, uh, assumed we were. Would be. Exclusive, I mean.”

“Yes! Yes, totally.” Tony nodded vigorously. “Just you and me, babe. For sure.”

Steve nodded and laid back down. 

“Good,” he said in a tone of immense satisfaction. (With maybe an edge of something fierce and possessive?) He held Tony a little tighter. “Good.”

They laid quietly for a few moments, limbs twined around each other just as before, but something uneasy and unhappy was unfurling inside Tony, making his chest feel tight, his stomach heavy. 

“Steve, I—“ Tony said. “Look, I know I was a playboy and a manwhore, but I’ve *never* cheated on anyone. I wouldn’t. I—“ (And, yeah, maybe it sounds a little sharp or maybe a little defensive, and, shit, now Steve is pulling away and—)

Steve propped up on his elbows to look at Tony with a worried frown. “Tony, I know that.” Steve took Tony’s hand and squeezed it. “I know that. I just wanted to make sure that we both agree.” 

Steve looked a little bewildered as he continued, “Things have changed so much and I don’t always know—“ Steve shrugged. “I’m old fashioned. I want you to be my fella, just mine, and not go with anyone else.” He kissed Tony’s hand and added, “And, I don’t want anyone else. Just you.” Steve shrugged.

Tony nodded and some of the tension eased from his body. “Yeah. I want that too.” 

“Good.” Steve smiled up at him, then planted a kiss on Tony’s chin. “So. Want some pancakes?”

“Yours? Always.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** “force of nature” was the phrase Jaune_Chat used to describe Steve in chapter six of “Permission to Surrender.” The phrase stuck with me, so part as plagiarism and part as a shout out, I’ve given her line to Tony. :-)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Hope you liked chapter 3! (Finally! Sexy time!)
> 
> And now a cry for help! I’ve been hard at work on chapter 4—the spreadsheet chapter!—and have made an Excel spreadsheet and wrote the chapter in MS Word with various changes of font, color, and formatting. (I’m proud! I think it’s neat!) But I can’t figure out how to get it onto AO3 without messing it all up. If any of you have this skill or know where to find instructions on this stuff or can help in any way, I would be tremendously grateful! I’ve been spending tons of time trying and failing to figure out formatting internet things instead of writing chapter 5 and that makes me sad…. 
> 
> Sorry for long author’s note! Will try not to be so long winded and demanding on a regular basis…


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Mighty Spreadsheet!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your encouragement, support, advice, and offers of help getting this chapter posted and formatted. Thanks in particular to PollyQ, ds862, inkstainedcoffeeaddict, luminare_ardua. Y’all are amazing. And, three cheers for my amazing friend, Rex Luscus, who made actual post-its for this chapter, something which is far beyond my skill set. 
> 
> Please note that this chapter contains only this Steve’s own, personal responses to various kinks. I by no means shall all of his feelings, nor do I wish to kink shame anyone. Thanks! Enjoy!

“Hey, babe,” Tony said sauntering into the living room with a StarkTab under his arm. Steve looked up from the newspaper. (Printed on actual paper and smelling like newsprint. He loved it…) Tony gave him a devilish grin. (That bodes ill. Or, very well…) “I’ve got something for you,” Tony said. “Got a minute?”

“Of course.”

Tony paused. “Hey, JARVIS?”

“Yes, Sir?”

“Do me a favor—let me know if anyone is on their way up here. I don’t want us to be disturbed without warning.” 

“Of course, Sir.” 

Tony sat down on the couch and patted a seat next to him. Steve abandoned his newspaper and his armchair to sit next to Tony. 

After looking at him pensively for a moment, Tony set the tablet aside and kissed Steve, gently and sweetly on the lips. (In the living room!) Steve returned the kiss, then squirmed closer. (More!) He opened his mouth, but Tony pulled back and drew Steve down into his arms. 

“Mmmm,” Tony murmured stroking Steve’s cheek. “Love kissing you so damn much, but I can’t get distracted. I brought you something.”

(Huh. Okay…)

“Steve, for this to work, I need to know what you want and what you don’t want. Okay?”

Steve nodded. (And, damn it! Just opening the topic suddenly makes it seem hard to speak.) 

Tony stroked his hair as he continued, “But I don’t want to make you uncomfortable or force you to verbalize things you aren’t ready to say out loud yet.”

(Thank you . . . God, I love you . . .)

“So, the mighty spreadsheet,” Tony intoned solemnly flipping the StarkTab on. “You can take your time and think about it as much as you want. If you have questions about something, you can look it up on wikipedia, ask me, or write me a note. Oh! And I added a column for ‘unsure,’ since it’s not like I expect you to have everything you want all figured out immediately or anything.” He handed Steve the stylus. “You can use this to add a post-it and, when I tap the little footnote it makes, I can read what you wrote. See?”

Tony demonstrated. At the top, next to “kinks” he added a post-it: 

The note popped up when he hovered over the little (a) the note created. Even writing with the stylus, Tony’s handwriting auto-formatted to a typed font. (Of course it did-- he had terrible handwriting.) 

“Here, see? So, you can write in notes and then I can respond in the file—I shared it between our accounts. So you can ask whatever you want right here, or add clarification or whatnot.”

“You like it?” Tony asked, voice a little hesitant. Steve nodded against his shoulder and kissed him on the cheek. (But, really, all this nodding is getting ridiculous.)

“Yeah, Tony,” Steve said. (See! Words!) “It’s great.”

“Yeah?” Tony sounded a bit relieved. “Good. ‘cause it’s really hard for me to work without at least some data points, you know? And it seemed hard for you to put into words, so I thought this might be, uh, good.” He kissed the top of Steve’s head. “But you can talk to me too. I . . . I like hearing you say it, what you want.”

(I’ll try. I want to say it for you. I don’t know why it’s hard . . .)

“Steve, I—“ Tony began, voice rough. He struggled a moment, then just pulled Steve up for an intense kiss, all teeth and tongues and hard, wet heat. Steve pressed closer, panting into Tony’s mouth, and just as he was about to climb onto Tony’s lap—

“Sir, Agent Barton is in the elevator, now approaching the living room from the shooting range.”

Steve scrambled away from Tony to the far side of the couch and tried to catch his breath. 

Tony laughed. “We’re allowed to make out on the couch, you know,” Tony said. Steve was *definitely* blushing. He bit his lip. Tony was still smiling, but added rather gently, “But we don’t have to or anything. It’s okay to be shy with the PDA, but . . . you know, we *can.* Yeah?” 

Steve nodded. Tony scooted closer, kissed him on the cheek, and handed him the tablet. 

“Here. Oh shit, I’m already late.” He shrugged. “Stark Industries calls.” He kissed Steve again and grinned. “And *you* have got homework.”

Steve fled to his bedroom before Clint arrived. 

He’d never been one to put off his homework. 

***

Steve sat down on the edge of his bed, then decided that was a terrible place to do this. (Far too much potential for distraction…) He moved to his armchair. Then to his studio, to the daft table Tony had given him. He flipped on the power and took a moment to stare at the whole spreadsheet. He skimmed the list. (Yes! Yes! Maybe. Ew. Huh? Yes! Huh? Huh? Huh? Okay, wait. Huh?)

This might take longer than he’d been expecting. Steve decided to do the easy part first. He needed to put a note next to the first entry. The stylus hovered over the glowing screen and Steve blushed. He felt like a naughty schoolboy passing Tony a filthy note. Or whispering dirty secrets in his ear, even though Tony wasn’t there to hear it and no sound was coming out. After a moment’s hesitation, Steve clicked, dragged, and began to write next to ‘anal sex’:

“Anal sex:”  


Steve deleted the note, then rewrote it as just “soon, please.” Then he rewrote it again the same as before, but left out the closing. Ten minutes later he added the closing again. (Yeah, okay, this isn’t easy either. But at least Tony isn’t watching him be an indecisive idiot…)

Next box: “Begging.” Steve turned it over in his mind. (“Fuck me . . . I want you inside me. I want you to come inside me. Please, fuck me. . . . I want it. . . Please . . .”) Yes, he’d loved that. Once he’d gotten started, the words just came pouring out so easily and though they hadn’t gotten Steve what he wanted (or, at least, not exactly what he’d had in mind), the look on Tony’s face--! Steve closed his eyes, picturing Tony again. Then made the imaginary Tony give him a different look, stern but with affection in his eyes. And Steve imagined him growling, “Beg for it, Steve. Tell me how bad you want me, baby. And if your begging’s good enough, maybe I’ll let you have it . . .”

(Oh fuck!) Just thinking about it was making his cock swell. The studio seemed warm all of a sudden. Steve took a long shuddering breath, then checked “love.” He called up another note then deleted it. (A check mark by ‘love’ would suffice.) 

Steve paused for a moment, then ticked the box for ‘curious’ under to “blindfolds.” He added another note. 

“Blindfolds:”  


“Bloodplay”: Steve checked HARD LIMIT. (He couldn’t imagine bleeding being sexy, even if he would heal really quickly.)

“Bondage”: Steve checked “love it” and added a note: 

Then added a few moments later:

Steve squirmed in his seat, hard cock pressing uncomfortably into his zipper. 

(Concentrate, Steve. This is important. Come on, focus.)

There was a lot on the spreadsheet he’d have to look up. (What was a CBT? Enema? Fisting? Sounded more like boxing.) Steve skipped ahead to a few of the things he wanted to write notes on. 

“Dirty Talk:”  


Steve was startled when a note popped up almost immediately. It read:

Steve stared. He tabbed over and opened a “chat” “window.” 

**SR:** Tony, I thought you were in a meeting for SI.  
 **TS:** I am. I’m on a conference call right now with Mr. Lawyer, Mrs. Lawyer, Mr. Director, Ms. Boardmember, and Ms. Potts. Problem?  
 **SR:** I . . . no . . . I guess not. But how can you multitask like this?  
 **TS:** Well, it is hard.

Steve squinted at his StarkTab for a moment. Then Tony added (predictably):

 **TS:** I meant that literally, babe. I’m totally hard. (And remember, since the dawn of time, cock jokes, etc…) You’re quite distracting. And your notes are hot. So—dirty talk? What’s vague? Help make it not vague for me, sweetheart. 

(Sweetheart, huh? Steve felt warm and a little silly, but apparently he liked that.)

Steve flipped back to the spreadsheet to reply to Tony’s note there. 

And, oh God, he *loved* the way Tony talked to him. He cheeks were burning. (Good boy . . . fuck your mouth . . . hold you down and make you take it. . . .) He grabbed the stylus and took a calming breath. Did he like it? Well! :  


Steve sighed. Should he know the answer to that? Did he know? 

Steve thought about some of the videos he’d seen on the internet, where the men had seemed by turns cruel and vindictive, their behavior degrading and humiliating. He’d still been hard watching those videos, but they left him with a sick sort of churning in his stomach. It looked more like abuse or rape than lovemaking. (“You don’t deserve my cock, you stupid whore . . . I’m gonna fuck you ‘til you bleed whether you want it or not, you pathetic piece of shit . . .”) Steve shuddered. His research had assured him it was all pretend, all consensual, and nobody had been hurt (thank God!), but it had left him feeling gross and unwilling to touch his cock, a little ill to find he was still hard. (He’d stopped exploring videos after that.) 

He frowned then replied to Tony’s note:

Steve took a deep breath and fetched a glass of water before trying to concentrate on the spreadsheet again.

“Name calling”:  


Tony’s response was immediate. (He clearly wasn’t focusing on his conference call. Poor Mr. Lawyer, et al. Tony had better not be making trouble for Pepper—she’d have his hide.)

Steve replied to Tony’s note: 

Then Steve went back and crossed out everything except “baby” and “sweetheart” then, after a moment’s hesitation, left in “pretty little slut.” 

Steve stared at Tony’s note, thinking of those awful videos again. He tried to imagine Tony saying those words to him in his sex voice, but still affectionate, calling him *those* sorts of names (whore! bitch!), dropping the nasty words in with his other filthy (but loving) bedroom talk . . . it was hard to imagine, but . . . He hit control+z and left them in along with “pretty little slut.” Then crossed them out once more. Then hit control+z again. (Maybe . . .?) 

Steve added another note:  


Steve closed his eyes and called up a scene in his mind. (Tony, pushing Steve roughly to his knees . . . “You’re such a pretty little slut . . . Take my cock like a good boy . . . You want it so bad, don’t you, baby?” . . .)

Steve inhaled sharply. (Oh fuck. Yeah, that . . . that, was just fine.)

Steve underlined ‘pretty little slut’*** and starred it. 

Flushed and breathing heavily, Steve scribbled “Work in progress-- be back later” on a note and flipped off the tablet. 

He needed a cold shower. (Or maybe a nice long one.)

His homework could wait a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so very much for your kind words on chapter 4! And thanks once more to Rex Luscus for the awesome post-it notes!

After Steve’s _very_ enjoyable shower, he went for a long run and then felt a little silly when he needed another shower.  Clean once more, he changed and settled in his living room.  Though eager to work on the spreadsheet some more, he resisted the temptation.  Instead, he turned his attention to writing up his performance report and tactical analysis of their encounter with the Columbia University robots (or as Tony called them, Grad Student Doom-and-Gloom Bots). 

Tony was always telling him that Fury couldn’t actually **make** him file reports and Steve supposed that was true.  He didn’t do it because he was required to, or even out of a sense of duty (well, not to Fury at least).  The reports really were helpful for him.  It let him think about a fight with a bit more distance and helped him identify ways they could all work better together in future.  Even if that battle hadn’t been particularly deadly (or even very interesting), there was always at least the potential for new insights.  And that mattered. 

With JARVIS’s help and footage from the Iron Man suit, Steve worked steadily on his analysis for a few hours before getting restless.  Maybe he’d just take another quick peek at the spreadsheet . . . The wikipedia article for “breathplay” was still loading when Steve heard a noise.

The elevators were quiet in the Tower (of course), but they hadn’t been designed with Steve’s acute hearing in mind.  There was an elevator on its way past Steve’s floor, and it sounded like it stopped just one above, at Tony’s. 

Maybe he was done with SI for the day and they could talk about the spreadsheet?  Or, better yet, they wouldn’t **_talk_** about the spreadsheet at all.  Tony would just grab him and . . . and he’d push him up against the wall and kiss him, then order him to his knees with his hands behind his back . . . maybe this time, Tony would tie them in place . . . “Beg for it, baby . . . Steve, tell me how bad you want me . . .”

Steve was on his way up to Tony’s suite, StarkTab in hand, before he realized he’d reached a decision.  He heard movement in the bedroom and called as he hurried in, feeling flustered and eager: “Tony, are you— ”

He froze.  Pepper Potts, dressed in an immaculate gray suit, was standing at the entrance of Tony’s gigantic walk-in closet with two shirts and ties over her arm. 

“Oh hello, Steve,” she said with a smile that looked a little uncertain (or is he imagining that?).  “Looking for Tony?  It isn’t an emergency is it?”

Steve blushed bright red.  (Shit, shit! She’ll know!  But, wait, that’s okay.  We’re not hiding.  I’m not ashamed.  Did Tony tell her already?  No, clearly not.  Why not?  Is--)

“Steve?”

(Wait, emergency?) 

“No, not at all,” Steve hastened to reassure her.  “It’s—”  (Shit!)  “It’s nothing important.”  (No that’s not true.  It is important!  It’s just not _urgent_.) 

Pepper gestured.  “Are you having trouble with your StarkTab?  I could maybe--”

“No!”  Steve snapped it shut.  “I mean, sorry—no, the tablet is fine.  I was just looking for Tony.  To talk about something.”

“Well, he’s in the workshop if you need him, though I hope you don’t need him for too long.  I have to drag him to a meeting—a live meeting with actual people in a room together-- in about forty minutes.”  She looked a little frazzled as she brushed her too-long bangs out of her eyes. 

“Is everything okay?” Steve asked. 

Pepper shrugged and shook her head.  “Problems in R&D.  It’s a disaster.”  She pressed her palm to her temple and continued, “Basically, we were already behind schedule to release the next generation Stark Phones—as in, late enough to warrant a skit on SNL and to make Leno’s list—and now there’s a design flaw that’s gone into production and the functions we’re _already advertising_ don’t work.” 

Pepper took three long, careful breaths.  “It’s a nightmare, but Tony’s working on it now so that’s good at least.”  She took a few more careful breaths and looked down at Tony’s blue and burgundy ties as though they might contain a solution. 

When she looked up, it was to smile at Steve, though she was clearly still tense as she joked, “So I’d be very grateful if you could convince all the super-villains of New York, Asgard, etc. to take a bit of a break until this is resolved.” 

Steve hesitated a moment, then gave her a little salute and snapped his heels.  “I’ll do my best, Sir!”

Pepper let out a little chuckle.  (Yeah, joking is okay.  Pepper likes joking around.  Not that we’re actually friends, but we’re sort of _friendly_ , aren’t we?  Even if some weird little part of me still hates you for hurting him while simultaneously feeling hideously grateful that you did, and, yeah, that really doesn’t make me feel so good . . .)  Pepper was still talking—something about ties and cell phones?—and digging in Tony’s closet again. 

Steve could tell he was still blushing.  (Shit.  We’re in Tony’s bedroom and that’s Tony’s bed, where I . . . but you . . . Shit.)  Pepper said something else and Steve snapped back to attention. 

“Sorry?”

“No, no.  I’m sorry for the jargon—I know it’s not your thing.   I was just stress-rambling.”  She laughed.   “You know, I never did that before Tony.”  And now she was really smiling for a moment. 

“Well, I should take these down to him.  Hopefully, he hasn’t gotten too filthy in the past ten minutes down there—it’s impossible to push that man into a shower!”  (No!  No, no.  Don’t!)  She rolled her eyes.  “He’d go to meetings covered in ink and grease if I’d let him!” Her tone was fond.  Something unpleasant was twisting in Steve’s gut. 

“Uh?  Steve?”  Pepper was looking at him expectantly.  (Oh, right.  I should go.  You think I don’t belong here.)

Steve forced himself to smile at her and he stepped out of the doorway then followed her to the elevator. 

“It sounds like things are really rough for you guys and Stark Industries right now.”  Steve said, resisting the temptation to fidget as the elevator returned him to his floor.  “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

Pepper smiled a bit sadly and shook her head.  “That’s kind, Steve, but no, I really don’t think so.”

Steve slumped.  The doors opened. 

“Oh.  Okay.  Well, best of luck.”  He stepped out of the elevator. 

“Take care, Steve.”  The doors shut behind her. 

Steve looked at the closed elevator doors for a few moments, then took a deep breath.  Well, that was . . . unsettling. 

There was still a funny knot in his stomach.  He didn’t like it.

***

Tony glared at the StarkPhone in his hand, resenting the hell out of the incipient shit-storm that had left him alternately running between meetings and locking himself in his workshop.  Apparently it was up to him to fix the next gen Stark phones because the very brilliant people he’d hired were also apparently idiots. 

Meanwhile, between phone calls and calculations and projections, a stupid little part of Tony’s brain kept insisting that by the time he solved this R&D disaster (which was also now on the verge of being a PR disaster and a legal disaster too), Steve might have changed his mind.  (Stupid.  He’s not going anywhere. He already _knows_ you.  This isn’t a surprise to him.  It will be okay.)

Tony really would have to talk to Pepper about “reallocating” some of SI’s “talent,” because this shit was unacceptable.  What the fuck?  Somebody had even fucked up the orders for the magna-plastic covers!  Or the manufacturing had gone to seed.  They shouldn’t be cracking!  Tony fumbled for a screwdriver.

Tony’s music went quiet and he looked up.  Steve was stepping into the workshop with his sketch bag over his shoulder and a pizza box in his hand. 

“Tony?  How’s it going?” Steve asked, voice concerned.  “I, uh, ran into Pepper and she filled me in a little.  It sounds really rough.”  Steve shuffled his feet, looking down bashfully. “I know there’s really nothing I can do to help on the engineering end, or the legal end, or the PR end, or really help in any way at all, but, um, I got you pizza.”  He smiled and held out the box.  “I went to Piaci.  I got you the one with lettuce you liked so much.”

“Field greens,” Tony corrected absently, walking around the workbench.  (He’d had no idea he’d been so worried, until now, feeling so relieved.)  Tony took the pizza and set it down.  He tucked his head against Steve’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist. 

Steve made a pleased little sound and held him close, pressing his cheek to Tony’s head (and, yeah, his probably disgustingly filthy, sweaty mess of hair. Ew.).  Steve’s body was like a furnace—he just radiated warmth. 

“How’re you holding up?” Steve asked. 

(Me? Fine.  Except, okay yeah, feeling guilty that I’ve been ignoring you even if I didn’t mean to—and, hey, progress!  I actually noticed that it had been . . . um?  two days?  three? . . . since I saw you.  This is huge!) 

“Fine,” Tony said. 

“Tony, you look exhausted.  It sounds just dreadful.” 

Tony nodded. 

“You should eat something.” Steve said, nudging him towards the pizza box. 

Tony nodded again and opened the box.  “Thanks.  This is,” he fumbled for the right phrase, “really great.” 

“Do you mind if I stay and do some drawing?  I promise I won’t interrupt you.”

“You’re always welcome here,” Tony said, then at Steve’s incredulous look amended it to, “okay, _almost_ always.” 

Steve grinned, reached for his stool and pulled up to his little station.  (And how many months ago had Tony let Steve in? He couldn’t quite recall—it felt frightfully new and yet like perhaps he’d had a spot here all along…) 

“Hey, JARVIS?  Put on the Cap Jazz Mix, would ya?”

“Of course, sir.” 

Tony inhaled two slices of pizza, reviewing code, while Ella Fitzgerald sang:

 _No one to talk with_  
 _All by myself_  
 _No one to walk with_  
 _But I'm happy on the shelf_  
 _Ain't misbehavin'_  
 _I'm savin' my love for you . . ._

(Maybe Johnson had been onto something with the adaptors?  No—they’d have to adjust the electromagnetic radiation for that.  Hm.  The numbers Tony had given them earlier should really have solved the problems. . . . what if . . .)

__  
_I know for certain_  
 _The one I love_  
 _I'm through with flirtin'_  
 _It's just you I'm thinkin' of_  
 _Ain't misbehavin'_  
 _I'm savin' my love for you_

 

Tony soon lost track of time, immersed in multilateration scans.  The steady stream of old timey music blurred together, less present and real to him than the steady background of Steve’s pencil scritching across paper, punctuated occasionally by frantic erasing. 

 

(Oh man!  Fuck!  Maybe if he just recalibrated the reactor?  . . . hm. . . . yes!)

 

Tony worked frantically—finally, finally making progress and absently devouring the pizza Steve had brought him slice by slice every twenty minutes or so.

Eventually, his mind still a blur of numbers, Tony reached out for pizza and felt around in an empty box.  He blinked and looked up, alone in his workshop.  (Steve?)  There was a piece of heavy sketch paper, wrapped in onion paper, with a note on top of it “for Tony.”  He wiped his fingers on his shirt and reached for the note. 

 

_Dear Tony,_

_Good night!  It’s late, so I’ve gone up to bed.  I didn’t want to interrupt you.  Well, I wanted to but I knew I shouldn’t interrupt you when it seemed like you were making progress._

_I finished working on the spreadsheet and am ready to talk about it when you want to.  Once you finish all this urgent work, you should SLEEP (because you need it) and then I hope we can go on our second date, talk, and . . .  other things.  _ 

_Love,_

  _Steve_

 

In much smaller letters, Steve had added the post-script: _“please, please don’t let anyone else see this drawing.  Please?”_   Almost nervously, Tony wiped his fingers again and carefully peeled back the onion paper. 

In the drawing, a muscular man was kneeling naked with his wrists bound behind his back in thick, heavy loops of rope.  His legs were spread wide, his back to the viewer, giving an enticing view of the glorious swell of his ass, the elegant curve of his spine, the impressive expanse of his broad shoulders.  The man was situated in front of a mirror, so that his bowed head, flushed cheeks, and bedroom eyes were still visible, his gaze lowered. 

Steve had drawn himself.

It was beautiful. 

And Tony had never been so tempted to abandon Stark Industries to its fate. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slow update! Er, and it's probably not the chapter you were hoping for.... But, I promise kinky sexy time soon! (Or, soonish...) 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed it!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay in bringing this to you!

Steve was making pancakes. Blueberry pancakes, this time. The sausages were in the oven to keep warm, nestled beside the hash browns. There wasn’t much Steve could do to help with Stark Industries (okay, fine— **nothing** , in fact), but he could at least try and prevent Tony from starving himself. Besides, cooking for Tony felt almost like spending time with him. 

Steve flipped a pancake. He let his thoughts wander. He’d finally finished with the spreadsheet! (At least for now.) It had been a more herculean task than he’d supposed at first glance. (People did strange—and sometimes *disgusting*-- things with one another apparently. Being tied up seemed positively pedestrian by comparison!) Steve knew he hadn’t quite figured things out, but he’d done his best with it. He’d even given it to Tony. (Finally!) And since then he hadn’t heard a thing about it. (Idiot—he’s busy. There’s a crisis. Of course he doesn’t have time to let **that** sort of thing distract him.) Steve blushed. Had Tony liked his drawing? (The cross-hatching on his thighs had still looked weird, but maybe Tony hadn’t noticed?) Would it inspire Tony? Would he tie Steve up next time? He closed his eyes to imagine it: kneeling on the floor with his hands tied behind his back, thick chords knotted around his wrists, a firm, constant pressure, like Tony’s holding him in place even while he’s touching Steve’s face, caressing his neck and shoulders, reaching down to tease his cock and--

“Damn, that smells good.”

Steve jumped and dropped the spatula.

“Tony!” (Ridiculous. How could Tony sneak up on someone with super-hearing? Daydreaming idiot.) 

“Mmm,” Tony hummed, stalking closer and giving Steve a deliberate look up and down. “Does making pancakes always get you hot and bothered?”

Steve blushed even more. (Silly.) Tony’s nice suit was stained and rumpled, his van dyke was in need of maintenance, and the dark circles under his eyes looked like bruises, but he was smiling one of his truly pleased smiles. 

Steve cleared his throat and answered, “No, of course not.” He slid the pancake onto a plate, then added, “I was thinking about you.”

Tony wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist and molded himself to Steve’s back. “And here I am.”

“I’m glad,” Steve said softly. He turned off the gas and set the griddle aside. “And you’re just in time for your breakfast. Go on. Grab a seat.” 

“Sorry, babe,” Tony said, reaching around him to rip off a big chunk of hot pancake and shove it into his mouth. “Too tired to eat,” he announced around his mouthful, wiping his fingers on his trousers.

“Tony, that’s ridiculous.” Steve turned to fix Tony with an exasperated look which no doubt looked more besotted than chastening. (Oh well.) “You have to keep your strength up. That amazing brain does, in fact, need fuel to run properly.” 

“Nope!” Tony said, looking tremendously pleased. “It’s crash time. I fixed the damn things. Victory is mine!”

“Tony, that’s fantastic!” Steve cried. “I knew you’d figure it out!”

“Well, yeah. Genius.” 

Steve didn’t bother rolling his eyes. He just smiled, nodded, and said, “Yeah. I know.” 

And they stood, just smiling at each other in the huge kitchen for a few long moments, before Tony clapped his hands and said briskly, “So, here’s the plan. I’m gonna go to bed right now and sleep for the next, oh, eleven hours. Then I’ll get up, have a shower, get dressed and at 7:30, I’m taking you on a second date. Good?”

“Perfect.” 

***

“Sir? It is now six pm. You asked to be awakened.” 

“Mmmph.”

“Sir, you instructed me to be insistent.”

“Mmmm-hmm.” 

Tony buried his head under his pillow. 

“Sir! You authorized me to use the sprinklers.”

“Hmph.” 

“Your date with Captain Rogers is in one and a half hours.” 

Tony sat up and rubbed at his eyes. Steve.

“Coffee?”

“Waiting in your kitchenette, Sir.” 

“You’re forgiven, JARVIS.”

“I’m so very relieved to hear it, Sir.” Snarky, JARVIS. Snarky. 

Tony stumbled blearily to his kitchenette and poured himself a huge mug of coffee. He drank half of it in a few long gulps, letting it scald his tongue but not caring. He needed to be alert. A long anticipated pleasure was about to be his. 

“Hey, JARVIS! Throw up a projection and give me Steve’s spreadsheet.” 

“Of course. One moment, Sir.”

Tony had known better than to so much as peek earlier and for once knowing better had motivated his actions. (Ha! See? Self-restraint. Totally possible.) If he’d looked at Steve’s spreadsheet, there was no way he’d have been able to fall asleep. He’d probably have just dashed down the stairs, exhausted or no, and mauled the man in the common room. And he’d needed sleep so he could think and he’d needed sleep so he could take Steve on a second date. (We’re doing this right. Don’t fuck up.) So he’d slept. For eleven hours. (And not because Steve told him to.)

Tony drained the rest of his mug and poured some more coffee, then turned to the projection. (Not with baited breath. Of course not.) 

Wow. Just, wow. Not so many things on Steve’s “love” list (yet!), but (oh god) no shock to see both “anal sex” and “begging” at the top of the list. (And, okay, alphabetizing, but whatever.) Also he’d marked a whole ton of “curious” and “unsure,” with very few negative ratings outside his hard limits. Tony read through it, slowly and steadily, unsurprised by much of what he found. (No really—Steve Rogers isn’t into scat?)

Tony had been expecting quite a few more notes than this, though, especially considering the start they’d made together. There was only one, next to “role play”:

Tony couldn’t help smiling. For such a kinky son of a bitch, Steve was a real romantic about it. And holy shit, he was interested in way more than Tony had been expecting. 

Tony lingered in the “curious” column running the possibilities over in his mind. He pictured his fingers wrapped around Steve’s throat, restricting his air for just a few moments, watching his face flush, then easing up and hearing Steve’s grateful breaths. The thought thrilled Tony almost as much as it terrified him. And then (fuck!) the thought of Steve kneeling, a thick black collar around his throat—it unleashed something possessive and powerful that made Tony feel like the arc reactor was super-charged and pulsing with energy. (Mine, mine, mine!) And (oh god, shit, fuck!) he was curious about **fisting**. (Does Steve even know what that is? Okay, he must—he looked it up online, right? And that is an amazing thing to imagine-- hot and hilarious all at once. Bet his eyes bugged out...) Tony closed his eyes and took deep steadying breaths. 

How the fuck was this his life? 

(Don’t fuck it up, don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up….)

Tony felt nearly overwhelmed by Steve’s desires. (And desire for Steve, of course.) But, looking at the chart, with only one new note it seemed cold and distant, with too little of Steve in it. He wanted to understand Steve’s thought process more clearly. He didn’t just want to avoid hurting or upsetting Steve, he wanted to anticipate and **understand** what Steve liked and why, wanted to take him apart and see what made him tick. Tony smiled. 

“JARVIS, bring up the document history—put the list of alterations and edits on a side screen.”

And, yep, that gave him a little more to work with. Tony skimmed over the list and the various edits and changes, taking in the patterns, looking for the underlying connections and governing systems and associations. 

Interesting. For “canes & crops,” Steve had checked “curious” then “unsure,” then back to “curious” before ending on “unsure” again. Same thing with “whips.” “CBT” had started in “dislike,” moved to “curious,” then found a home in “unsure.” Spanking had moved from “curious” to “like” to “unsure” then back to “curious.” (Oh fuck!)

Looked like Steve had some fairly conflicting feelings about pain. Tony tapped at the arc reactor pensively. So, unsure about pain. Fair enough. They’d talk about it later. And, oh, interesting—Steve had checked “curious” for “marks (bruising, scabs, etc.).” (Yeah—definitely talking about that later.)

Tony skimmed the lists again. Clearly anything public was a deal breaker, which was just as well. It was a good idea to keep Tony’s exhibitionist tendency in check. Then again, his possessiveness would probably have prevented anything too public anyway. Steve was Tony’s now. (Mine!)

And nothing humiliating or degrading. No surprises there. Steve Rogers hated bullies and it didn’t seem like behavior he’d be able to separate even in a sexual context. Steve had been humiliated and degraded by bullies enough in his life. Tony’s heart seized a little at the sight of the “X” for “HARD LIMIT” by “medical play.” Tony felt a swell of protectiveness and tenderness so intense and sudden it nearly frightened him. (Calm down, stupid. He’s fine.) He took a deep breath.

(Don’t fuck up.)

“Bring up all my notes for Project X, JARVIS.”

“Of course, Sir. And, if I may, good luck.”

***

When the clock ticked 7:30, Steve immediately set aside the book he’d been pretending to read. (Face it Rogers, you’ve been daydreaming all day.) Normally, he’d give Tony fifteen minutes of leeway before showing up—he hated to look impatient—but right now he’d waited as long as he could. He’d taken a ridiculously long time in the shower and picking out his clothes—a fitted blue button down and black trousers Tony had given him—and then he’d just had to **wait**. 

But now it was 7:30. Steve launched himself from his chair and, unwilling to stay still for the elevator, pounded up the steps from his apartment to Tony’s penthouse. JARVIS unlocked the doors for him automatically as he moved from floor to floor. 

Running up the stairs shouldn’t raise his heart rate anymore, but his heart was pounding as he dashed to Tony’s bedroom. The door was open. 

“Tony?”

Tony was just emerging from his bathroom, bare-footed and bare-chested, fitted gray trousers slung low on his hips. The arc reactor glowed in his chest, rising and falling with his breathing, the scars around it clearly visible in the bright light. Tony’s hair was still wet and dripping from his shower. They stood frozen-- staring at one another—then sprang into action. 

It was sudden and almost violent, a hot, gasping collision. Steve needed more contact, more skin, more Tony. He pressed against him, eager and insistent as Tony pulled him closer. Tony hit the wall and braced as they writhed against each other. 

“Steve,” Tony gasped, scrabbling at the buttons of his shirt before giving up on them and moving his hands to Steve’s belt. Tony thrust his tongue in and out of Steve’s mouth-- wet, hot, beautiful—as he worked his way into Steve’s underwear. There wasn’t enough air. Tony’s hand was tight and firm around his erection. The calluses from long hours in the workshop were rough against his sensitive skin, a delicious friction. (Oh!) Steve fumbled with Tony’s buttons and (finally!) got his hand around Tony’s cock. 

They jerked each other off, rough and frantic. It was all too much. Steve was gasping and panting. He pressed his flushed face against Tony’s neck. “Tony, please,” he whispered desperately, not exactly sure what he was asking for. 

Tony curled his fingers in Steve’s hair and pulled him back sharply. It gave Steve goosebumps. 

“Get on your knees for me, baby,” Tony said, pushing him down. (Yes!) Steve whimpered. “Good boy,” Tony said and caressed his cheek before grabbing his hair again. 

“You want it don’t you, babe?” 

Steve’s breath hitched and his heart stuttered at the words. He nodded, looking up at Tony and trying to beg with his eyes. He opened his mouth wide. “Yeah, fuck!” Tony swore and guided Steve onto his cock. (Oh god, hot and heavy on his tongue . . . so full . . . ) Steve sucked eagerly. Tony began to move Steve’s head and thrust shallowly into his mouth. Steve relaxed into it, letting Tony move him as he pleased. Steve slid Tony’s trousers down his hips to fondle Tony’s balls. (Remember, firm. But not too firm.) When Tony thrust into his mouth, it made a wet noise, filthy and sloppy, that made Steve’s cock jerk. 

“You’re gorgeous like that, baby,” Tony said roughly, giving another little thrust, “with your mouth stretched around my cock.” 

Tony moved faster, little thrusts in a steady rhythm. “Good boy, yeah, take it . . .”

(Oh god. Fuck! Fuck!) Steve reached for his erection. Tony yanked him back hard. His mouth left Tony’s cock with a wet ‘pop.’ 

“Don’t touch yourself,” Tony ordered, a sharp edge to his voice. “Don’t you fucking dare.” 

Steve let go immediately, disappointed and thrilled all at once. 

“Hands behind your back!”

(Fuck!) 

Steve obeyed. Tony moaned and pulled at his hair a little harder. It was rushed and frantic, urgent and heady. Steve let himself be swept up in it. (Tony’s in control. . . I’m yours . . . take me . . .)

“You want me, don’t you? You wanna drive me crazy, make me come down your throat.”

(Yes! God, yes. Please!) Steve’s mind felt pleasantly cloudy, caught up in sensations: the almost-pain of Tony pulling his hair, the wet slide of the cock between his lips, its weight on his tongue, the musky smell of Tony’s sex. But Steve realized distantly that what sounded like an order, was a question too, so he answered in his own way…

“Mmmmm,” Steve moaned around Tony’s cock. 

“Fuck! Steve!” 

And Tony held his head in place with both hands as he flooded Steve’s mouth with cum—hot and bitter, salty and thick. Steve swallowed around Tony’s cock, flushed with desire and success. (I did that. I made you come apart.) It was a dizzying thought.

Then Tony was part dragging, part pushing, Steve over to the bed, awkward, stumbling, his trousers around his knees. Tony gave him a shove and Steve flopped back. Tony fell to his knees and yanked Steve’s trousers down to his ankles. He licked Steve’s dick, a long wet stripe with his tongue. (Oh oh oh!) Steve shoved his fist in his mouth and bit down on his cries. Tony sucked the tip, then began to bob his head and--- (oh fuck, fuck, fuck! wet, hot, tight!)

Tony squeezed Steve’s ass, gave a hard suck on his cock and Steve was gone, gone, gone. He arched off the bed, gasping and shuddering, coming far sooner than he’d meant to, suddenly and without warning. And, oh god, he could feel Tony swallowing around him. 

Steve’s mind still felt fogged with lust even as his body went loose and relaxed. Tony was still on his knees, his cheek now pressed to Steve’s thigh, panting damply against his skin. (Fuck.) It was all over so quickly. Steve covered his face with his arm. 

“T—Tony, I’m sorry. I—“

“Shhhhh,” Tony said, climbing onto the bed and wrapping an arm around Steve. “Enjoy the moment.” 

And he did. He may have felt a little silly, with his blue button-down done up, his trousers and underwear around his ankles, and his softening cock exposed to the air and (more troubling) the open bedroom door, but it was okay. Tony had looped his arms around him and worked a hand up under Steve’s shirt to caress his stomach lightly. Tony pressed a line of open-mouthed kisses to his neck, then pulled away to drag the duvet around them. Steve sighed and settled back into Tony’s arms. He synchronized his breathing to Tony’s, a soothing rhythm of in-out, in-out. They laid like that for several minutes. 

“Hey, Tony?” Steve eventually asked in a quiet voice. “Can I ask you something?”

Tony went still. Steve could hear him swallow. “Uh, sure. Ask away.”

Steve bit his lip. “Um, before,” Steve started haltingly, “in bed, the first time, when I tried to, uh, go further . . .”-- he fumbled-- “. . . it made me choke. I-- I gagged. It just—“ Steve frowned, then took a deep breath.

“Can you . . . can you teach me how to not gag? So I can—“ he buried his face against Tony’s shoulder. (Say it! He likes it when you say *things* to him!) Steve whispered into Tony’s ear, “I want to take you deeper. All the way down my throat.” 

“Oh fuck!” Tony cried, arms tightening around Steve. Tony’s eyes were bright and wide, his cheeks flushed. “Talk like that and we’ll never go to dinner. Scratch that—we’ll never go anywhere again. I’ll just chain you to the bed and keep you here forever as my pleasure slave.” Tony kissed him. “God, you have no idea what you do to me, do you?” Tony groaned. “Only you could sound sweet and innocent while begging me to teach you how to deep-throat my cock.” 

Steve flushed and Tony added, “And I find all of that unspeakably hot. And amazing. And sweet.” He kissed Steve gently. “And, yeah, I can probably teach you.” Steve squirmed a little in his arms, stomach going tight at the thought. Tony bit his earlobe and whispered, “Baby, I’ll train you to take it. I’ll keep you tied down on your knees until you can stay open for me, until I can fuck your throat.” Steve gasped, cock stirring again. “Is that what you want?”

Steve nodded and squirmed closer in Tony’s arms, his breathing going heavy once more. He pressed closer to rub his body against Tony’s. (So greedy, so eager. Please, I--)

Steve’s stomach rumbled loudly. Tony huffed out a little laugh and pulled away. (No!) 

“Okay! That’s it. Time for dinner.”

“I’m fine, Tony. Really—“

“Nope! Super soldiers need their supper.” Tony stood and pulled up his trousers. (How could he make that look so elegant?) “Besides, we’re running late as it is. Get yourself in order, soldier. Go on!”

Steve took a breath and tried to will away his growing arousal. 

Later. There’d be plenty of time.

Besides—it was time for their second date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your support and sorry for the long wait for this chapter! I ran into trouble with this chapter and needed to do some planning ahead for the rest of the story (and the next one too!). I'm still not entirely happy with this chapter but figured I had better post it and move on or Steve and Tony will be stuck in limbo indefinitely. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for your kindness! There's more on the way (hopefully more quickly this time...).


	7. Chapter 7

 

Tony had made reservations at the ten most expensive, exclusive restaurants in New York one after another and cancelled all of them in the end.  Happy had the night off, so Tony drove them in the Bentley.  Usually Tony would just double park in front of the restaurant and assume they weren’t going to tow it before he finished with dinner-- his parking tickets had probably funded an entire highway by now--  but Steve frowned on that kind of thing, so he left their wheels in the parking complex a few blocks away. 

 

They walked to the restaurant in silence, while scattered hipsters, businessmen, and the occasional fashionista swept past without signs of recognizing them.  (Thank God!)  Steve kept glancing over at Tony with a pensive expression Tony couldn’t quite read.  They walked, a solid foot between them and, after a few steps, Steve thrust his hands deep in his pockets. 

 

“So, you still haven’t told me where we’re going,” Steve said with a little smile.  (And what is that?  Is he sad? Wistful?  Worried?  For a man with his heart on his sleeve, Steve can be really hard to read sometimes.)

 

“Yeah, well, you’ll just have to wait.  Besides, we’re almost there!” Tony answered brightly.  “You’ll see in a minute, babe.”  (Worried?  It looks kinda like worried.)  “But don’t worry-- nothing too swanky.  Promise. They don’t even have valet!”  Tony smiled then shrugged.  “You like trying new things and I like getting my hands dirty, so it should be good, baby.”

 

Steve smiled back at him.  (Something’s off.  Or is it?  Am I paranoid?  Oh fuck.  Did he just look over his shoulder?)

 

“At least,” Tony hurried on, “I think it will be good.  I mean, I think you’ll like it, but if you don’t we can go wherever you want!  I don’t—“

 

Steve smiled a bit wider (a more familiar smile) and interrupted, “I’m sure it will be lovely, Tony.”  Steve bumped his shoulder against Tony’s, then quickly stepped away again. 

 

“Uh, yeah.  Good,” Tony said, not feeling entirely reassured.  “And, here we are.” 

 

Berber Café was a riotous explosion of patterns and colors, from the intricate rugs and floor cushions to the delicately carved tables and vivid wall panels.  Bright reds and blues, creams and golds, illuminated by oil lamps, and an open fire. (There are electric lights too, of course, but they’ve created the illusion of candle light expertly.) 

 

Steve looked a little wide-eyed taking it all in. 

 

“Tony, it’s *lovely*.”

 

“Table for two?” a teenage boy asked politely, his voice cracking.  Tony nearly winced in sympathy.

 

“Yes, please.” 

 

Steve and Tony followed the boy (probably the owners’ son) to a small table, surrounded by floor cushions.  It was in the far corner of the restaurant, near the hearth.  There were a few young hipsters who stood out, but other than that the clientele looked mostly like middle aged Moroccans.  (And, yeah, 42 is NOT middle aged, thank you very much.)

 

As they took their seats on brightly colored and beautifully embroidered floor cushions, Tony said, “Well, I really hope you like it.  Seemed like you might.  I mean, it isn’t Michelin rated haute cuisine or anything, but —“

 

“And I appreciate that!”

 

“ Oh, right.  Good.”

 

“Tony, relax.  It’s great.”  Steve gave Tony’s knee a quick squeeze under the table then moved his hand.  “So, what should I try here?” 

 

Tony didn’t actually know all that much about Moroccan cuisine or Steve’s taste so he just ordered most of the menu and, when Steve tried to protest, pointed out that the whole team would enjoy the copious left-overs and, no, of course he wouldn’t let any food go to waste.  (Besides, Steve could probably eat half of what Tony ordered himself considering his super-metabolism.)

 

“So,” Steve said, looking at Tony with some concern. “Can you tell me what happened at Stark Industries?  I never got a very clear picture from the little, ah, Pepper told me in passing.  Something about ‘R and D’ and cell phones and legal contracts?”

 

Tony waved it off and took a sip of water.

 

“You don’t *actually* want to hear all about that, surely? All the bla-bla-bla, how it all went to shit, the ins and outs, and all that.  You cannot possibly be interested.” 

 

Steve looked a little hurt as he said, “Of course I’m interested, Tony.  It’s part of your life.” 

 

Tony snorted.  “Well, yeah. Sure, when you put it like that.  But it was just the crappy part of my life that ate a week I’d rather have spent with you.”  Steve smiled and perked up at that.  (Oh Christ, you’re beautiful.)

 

Tony continued,   “Seriously, I didn’t like spending energy on those problems the first time around—would hate for them to eat up any more time.” 

 

“And trust me,” Tony went on, waving his hands, “super boring.  And, sure, my solution was brilliant.  A thing of beauty.  A thing of genius.  But describing it doesn’t necessarily make great dinner conversation.  ” 

 

“If you say so, Tony,”  Steve conceded with an amused little smile. “But I **am** interested.”  He added ruefully, “Even when I don’t entirely understand.”  He shrugged.  “I mean, I know I’d never be able to keep up with you and Bruce no matter what I did, but it **is** interesting.  I’ve done a bit of reading.  And if you don’t mind going slowly, sometimes I think I could get at least part of it.”

 

Steve made a helpless little gesture and Tony’s breath caught in his throat, choking on a rush of something he couldn’t quite get in order. 

 

(Duh, nobody can keep up with us.  Nobody! You’re so much better than I am. Never feel bad about yourself.  Oh fuck, _Steve_.)  

 

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony said and it came out a little strangled.  He grabbed Steve’s hand to pull him closer as he leaned over, reaching out to touch Steve’s cheek, unsure what to say, but needing to kiss Steve, to _show_ him that he didn’t care, that Steve was wonderful and brilliant whether or not he understood engineering or physics or had a PhD or even a BA.  “ _Steve_.”

 

Steve pulled away.  He glanced around the restaurant.  Tony let his hand drop.

 

(Fuck.  Fuck fuck fuck.)

 

Steve was looking down at the table with this sick, miserable expression on his face.  (Wrong move. Shit, shit.) 

 

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand under the table and rubbed little circles on the back of his hand. 

 

“Steve, it’s okay.  Hey, hey, come on.”  Tony ducked down into Steve’s line of sight, smiling.  “Sorry.  My bad, okay?”  (Come on—words, stupid.)  “And, Steve?  I don’t need you to be like me or like Bruce.”  He squeezed Steve’s hand again.  “I just need you to be _you_.  Okay?”

 

Steve gave a tight nod. With one last squeeze, Tony let go of his hand. 

 

“Oh, hey look!  Round one of our epic dinner is arriving!” 

 

***

 

It took a little while to put Steve at ease again, but Tony awarded himself an A for effort.  With a little coaxing, Tony soon had Steve waxing rhapsodic about middle eastern art which he’d apparently been reading up on of late. 

 

“See all those patterns that look like Celtic knotwork or abstract arabesques?  That’s actually really intricate calligraphy, usually verses from the Koran.  Uh, you probably already knew that though.”  Steve peered across the restaurant at a beautiful panel.  “That one looks like a _nashkh_ script to me.”  Steve said it pensively, then added, embarrassed, “but I mean, I’m hardly an expert.” 

 

With a bit more prodding, Steve soon was describing various movements in Islamic art with considerable enthusiasm.  (See you know tons of stuff I know nothing about!)  Tony wisely refrained from asking if this recent reading had been inspired by Steve’s research on the Iraq War and whether, like Pepper, he’d cried reading about the sacking of the National Museum in Baghdad.  (Yeah—depressing shit.  Best avoided on dates.  Up there on the list with ill considered PDA.  Oops!)  Tony found himself impressed, both by how much Steve knew and by how _not boring_ he made hearing about it. 

 

When Steve shrugged off Tony’s compliments and before Tony could remember that he kinda hated going to art museums, Tony found himself asking if Steve would like to see the newly restored Islamic Art Wing at the Met.  The smile Steve gave him was dazzling and, yeah, totally worth snoring past some twelfth century vases.  (And, hey, if Steve can make _hearing_ about art kinda interesting, maybe he’d improve _looking_ at it too. . .)

 

Plate after heaping plate of delicious food arrived.  Steve asked their server to describe each of the dishes twice, committing ingredients and foreign names to memory.  (Adorable.  Adorable!)  They ate with their fingers, their knees brushing under the table. 

 

Steve told Tony about his tactical analysis of their battle with the Doom and Gloom Grad Bots.  Tony told Steve about his ideas for upgrading Widow’s weaponry.  They argued about Bond movies.  (And of course Steve likes Daniel Craig’s Bond—the one with *feelings.*  He’s James Bond for God’s sake!  He doesn’t do feelings.)  Little by little, Steve’s uneasiness diminished but, now that Tony knew what he was looking for, he could tell it was never fully dispelled. 

 

They lingered over ktefa, quietly sipping more tea, and exchanging long, lingering looks.  Tony hadn’t even said anything and Steve was already blushing.  (Well, no mystery what he’s thinking about!) 

 

Tony leaned close (but not too close) to murmur.  “Let’s get out of here, yeah?”

 

Steve just nodded and blushed a little brighter.  He made no protest when Tony paid, gathered their left-overs, and headed for the door.  Walking back to the car, Tony kinda wanted to hold Steve’s hand like a silly teenager, but Steve’s hands were in his pockets again and now Tony had a feeling he knew why. 

 

****

 

Tony put on the Cap Jazz Mix in the car and they rode in silence.  Back at the Tower, Tony parked the car.  As soon as the engine went dead and the music silent, they spoke in unison.

 

“Tony, about earlier —”

 

“Steve, I had a wonderful time.  I—”

 

They both fell silent, then started again. 

 

“I did too, but I—”

 

“Please, don’t—”

 

They chuckled. 

 

“Hey, come ‘ere, baby,” Tony said, leaning over for a kiss.  “It’s all fine.  Really.  Okay?”

 

Steve nodded and kissed Tony. 

 

“Are _you_ okay?” Tony asked and Steve nodded with a little smile. 

 

“Yeah.  I—yeah, I am.” 

 

“Well then.” Tony said, voice rich with promise.  “Shall we go inside?”

 

“Please.”

 

They held hands in the garage and in the elevator.  (Oh God, you’re amazing.  I--)

 

“Steve,” Tony murmured, his tone serious as he looked at Steve, taking him in—his bright blue eyes, pale skin, angular jaw, and frankly adorable ears.  Steve raised his eyebrows, his look inquiring.  Tony pushed him gently against the elevator wall.  

 

“Steve,” Tony said again, more softly, and took Steve’s face in his hands.  He caressed Steve’s cheekbones with his thumbs, then smoothed them along Steve’s eyebrows.  After a moment, Steve closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh, sinking down against the wall.  Tony kissed him very gently on the lips then, when they arrived at the penthouse, pulled Steve towards the living room and the couch.

 

(And I want you on your knees, looking up at me again, oh god with *that* look, but no maybe not?  We need to talk and you need to feel free to say what you need to . . . so, on the couch?  As clear equals?)

 

“Come here,” Tony said and guided Steve to the couch next to him.  Steve glanced down at the carpet by Tony’s feet, a quick darting look, before turning to Tony with a little smile and obediently sitting where he’d indicated. 

 

A flash of memory came back to Tony, sudden and vivid:

 

_A few months ago, when Thor had broken their second couch and Tony hadn’t yet replaced it. . ._

_They were watching Night of the Living Dead—Tony, Clint, Natasha, and Thor all in a row on the huge remaining couch—when Steve got back from an evening run._

_“Come join us, Steve!  Scoot over, guys.  Make some room,” Tony insisted, but Steve shrugged._

_“No need—I’d just squish you.  I’m fine on the floor.”_

_And he curled up, knees folded under him almost kneeling, surprisingly graceful, leaning a bit against the arm rest and the couch, but his shoulder just barely brushing Tony’s leg_.  _And Tony had thought nothing of it at the time, when Steve fell asleep and his head lolled over to rest against Tony’s knee, but . . ._

 

(That’s where you wanted to be!  Even then!  And where you want to be now. Oh fuck. God, _Steve_. . . )

 

Tony squeezed Steve’s hand and took a deep breath. 

 

“Steve, do you want me to be in charge again tonight?”

 

Steve flushed slightly and looked down and to the right, shy and bashful again, the very picture of submission.  He looked up at Tony from under his lashes with a hint of a hesitant smile as he nodded.  And then Tony couldn’t keep his hands to himself—he scooted closer and ran a hand through Steve’s hair. 

 

“Good.”  His voice sounded a little thick. “I want that too.  And I have a few ideas.  But first, have you picked a safeword yet?”

 

Steve raised his head to give Tony a blank look for a moment before looking a hint concerned. He hesitated a moment before asking, “What?”

 

Tony blinked.  “A safeword.  Did you pick a safeword?” 

 

Steve bit his lip and glanced away. 

 

(Shit.  Did you not read about this stuff?  Huh.  That could explain a few things.  And cause problems. Ah, shit.)

 

“Do you know what that is?”

 

Steve shook his head, still looking hesitant.

 

“It’s like a code word,” Tony explained.  “It’s what you say if you’re distressed and want to stop.” 

 

Steve looked at him dubiously.  (The heavy erotic tension that had built in the elevator is fading, sliding away.  It’s okay.  It’s fine.  They can bring it back—it’s good to talk like this, right?) 

 

“Wouldn’t I just say ‘stop’?”  Steve asked.

 

Tony rubbed his neck and tried to hold in a frustrated sigh.  “Yeah, I see what you mean.  But what if you want to say no or stop but don’t want to mean it.”

 

And now Steve looked concerned, fully alert. “Why would I say no if I didn’t mean it?  If someone—“

 

“Wait, Steve.  Honey, hang on.”  (Shit, shit, shit.  Way to sound like a crazy date rapist who doesn’t understand consent, Tony.)  “Yeah, no and stop should always be respected.  For sure.  With you a hundred perfect.  None of that ‘no means yes’ bullshit.  Unless you’ve set it up beforehand for role play or something.  Or you want to push your limits or—oh, I don’t know.  We may never do any of that and if we do we’ll be talking about it a lot first, but I—“ 

 

(I want you to have a safeword because that means we’re really doing this.  It means I’m doing it right.)

 

Tony took a deep breath.  “If you’re tied up, and I hear you say ‘stop’ I’m going to be grabbing the surgical scissors to get you lose as fast as I can and it’s gonna give me a jolt, like a bad ‘oh shit I distressed Steve’ jolt, but what if you were starting to say ‘stop teasing.’  Having a safeword, I don’t know—it’s like the big red reset button and if I know that you can hit it whenever you want I won’t worry about you as much.”  (Ah, shit.  I’m explaining this badly.)  “It means you don’t have to try and explain what’s wrong—it’s just one word, so even if you can’t put everything into sentences, I’ll know.  Everything stops.  It’s like a panic button.”

 

For a moment, Tony thought Steve might protest again.  It was a relief when he didn’t.

 

 “Sure, Tony.  I can pick a codeword if you want.”  (And it’s clear that Steve doesn’t get it, doesn’t really understand, but he’s happy to do it anyway and I guess that’s enough for now.) 

 

“So what’s your word, champ?”  Tony asked with a smile.  “Something you wouldn’t say in bed, okay?  Or as part of a normal sentence.  Er, a normal sentence in bed.” 

 

“Uh.  How about ‘shield’?” 

 

(Ha!) 

 

Tony managed not to laugh.  (You would pick ‘shield’ wouldn’t you, Cap?  Then again, it means comfort and protection and if you’re safewording I guess that’s what you’d need.  So, shield it is.) 

 

“Good.  You say ‘shield’ and everything stops immediately.  I’ll set you lose, stop whatever we’re doing, and take care of you until you can tell me what went wrong.  Okay?”

 

“Sure, Tony.”  (Could you make it less obvious that you’re humoring me?  Geeze…)

 

“Look, Steve, it’s important.  I—I don’t want to hurt you.  If anything— **anything** —  upsets you, use your safeword.  I’ll never be upset or angry with you for safewording, okay?  Do—do you understand?”

 

“Yes, Tony. I understand.”  And this time Steve said it with a bit more gravitas. 

 

“Good.  Now that that’s settled,” Tony leaned closer for a seductive whisper, “I want you to go into the bedroom.”  Tony tried to sound commanding as he continued, “Take off all your clothes and kneel on the floor beside the bed.  I’ll join you in a few minutes.  Just wait for me and don’t move.  Okay, baby?”

 

Steve nodded and Tony kissed him on the forehead. 

 

“Good boy.”

 

(And here we go. . . )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all your support! You guys are the best!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! I made you porn! :-)

Steve felt a little unsteady as he walked to Tony’s bedroom in the penthouse. (Coward. You couldn’t even hold his hand. Even though you wanted to. Pathetic.) Steve took off his shoes and socks and, after a moment’s consideration, left them tucked off to the side of Tony’s sleek black dresser. (It was just a kiss. Nobody was even looking. Coward.) He unbuttoned his shirt. (No, it’s okay. Tony said it was okay.) He folded his shirt and left it on top of the dresser. (It’s early. It will get easier. “ _It gets better_.”) He undid his trousers. (There’s nothing wrong with me. With us. I know that. How can I **know** that and still pull away?) He folded his trousers and put them on top of his shirt. (Next time, I should just kiss Tony. It’s the twenty-first century! Nobody will care. Right?) Steve stared at his nice clothes, meticulously selected for their second date. (Damn it!) He slammed his fist down on the dresser. 

Steve took long, deep, even breaths and pushed the failures (his failures) of the evening away. 

(I love Tony. He loves me. He’s not upset. Everything’s all right.) 

Steve walked away from the dresser to stand beside the bed. 

(Tony’s in charge. Everything’s good.)

Steve sank to his knees. It felt good to kneel, to know he was doing what Tony had asked of him. The thick carpet was soft under his knees. It was warm in Tony’s room, warmer than usual, and Steve had a feeling that Tony had asked JARVIS to the heat up just for him. Tony would take care of him. 

Steve frowned, mulling over their recent conversation. Safeword, huh? The whole concept seemed a little odd. If he wanted to be untied, wouldn’t he just ask? And if Tony wanted him tied up, wouldn’t he want to stay tied up too? Wouldn’t it be obvious if he was upset? It was hard to picture being upset with Tony there to take care of him. Tony wouldn’t do anything he knew would distress Steve. (Ugh. Some of the things on that chart. Just ugh.)

Steve took another deep breath. Tony would be back soon and until then, he’d kneel patiently. If Tony wanted him to kneel, he’d kneel. If Tony wanted him to have a safeword, he’d have a safeword. Even if he couldn’t imagine using it. 

Then again, there were things Steve was unsure about. Maybe he wouldn’t know it was upsetting until they tried it. Was that why Tony wanted him to pick a safeword now? Was Tony planning to try some of the things Steve had marked unsure? Tonight? He thought Tony wouldn’t try any of that so soon. Maybe there were things Tony really wanted that Steve had marked unsure? Would Tony want to hurt him? Steve’s heart be at a little faster at the thought. It was appealing and unappealing at the same time. Steve shivered.

Even without a safeword, wouldn’t it be clear to Tony if he was unhappy? And, if Tony was enjoying it would he really want to stop? He wanted to please Tony. Oh fuck. He wanted to please Tony so badly, wanted to drive him wild with lust and be caught up in the storm of it. If Tony was happy that would make him happy. Right?

Huh. Suddenly everything felt more complicated than it did before. Steve bit his lip. (Tony, come back! It’s all so much easier when you’re here. . . )

Steve thought about the drawing he’d given Tony. He spread his legs a little wider. His cock stirred. 

(Oh fuck. Please!) 

Where had Tony gone? What was taking him so long? Did he like the idea of making Steve wait? Just leave him kneeling there, at his command. (Mmmm.) 

Maybe Tony would tie him up like in his drawing? Maybe he’d tie him up then push him against the bed and fuck him from behind, murmuring soft and dirty in his ear. (“You like that, baby? Fuck! Take it! Yeah, you’re gorgeous.”) Maybe he’d make Steve beg for it. (“Tony, _please_. . . I need you . . . Take me!”) 

(Oh God.)

Steve’s cock grew thick and heavy between his legs. Steve kept his head bowed and knew he was blushing. (Oh, for crying out loud! Am I ever gonna stop blushing?) Steve spread his legs a little wider. He was tempted to put his hands behind his back, but Tony hadn’t said anything about that, so he left them resting lightly on his knees. 

(Tony?)

Anticipation, nerves, eagerness, arousal—it was all swirling around in the pit of Steve’s stomach, making his breathing a little rough as he waited for Tony, losing track of time. He focused on being still for Tony, the feel of being on his knees, the carpet against his skin, the heavy ache of his cock. 

From the far side of the penthouse, Steve heard the elevator and then familiar footsteps in the hallway, Tony’s easy gait. He wanted to turn around, but Tony had told him to kneel and not move, so he didn’t turn as Tony drew closer. 

“Fuck,” Tony said softly. Steve didn’t move. “You’re gorgeous like that, you know, waiting for me on your knees.” Steve could hear a rustling over his shoulder. (Getting undressed?) There was the sound of a box or a tray or something being set just behind Steve and to the left, out of sight.

And then Tony was standing behind him, hands carding through Steve’s hair. He shuddered.

“Good boy.” 

Tony knelt behind him, running his hands along Steve’s neck, shoulders, back, and then Tony left little kisses where his hands had been, murmuring, “You’re so good, Steve. . . Baby, you’re so good for me . . .” 

Tony hugged Steve from behind, his bare chest and the exposed arc reactor pressed against Steve’s skin. Steve’s breath hitched at the feel of Tony behind him, _there_. Tony rested his chin on Steve’s shoulder, his goatee scratching a little, and put his hands over Steve’s heart. 

“Steve, do you understand what your safeword is for?” Tony asked softly.

Steve nodded. 

“Do you remember your safeword?”

Steve nodded again. 

“Say it, Steve. Tell me your safeword.” 

Steve licked his lips and swallowed before answering in a whisper: “Shield.”

Tony kissed his cheek. “Good boy.” 

Then Tony reached down, closed his hands around Steve’s wrists, and pulled them behind his back. Steve’s cock leapt and he held his breath. (Yes, yes, yes. Tony, _please_.)

“Don’t move,” Tony ordered. Steve heard more rustling and then a thick, silky-feeling cord was looped around his wrists, once, twice, three times, four, around and around in loose coils. Then Tony held Steve’s right hand steady as he threaded the rope back over the coils, drawing the binding tighter and tighter until the ropes were a firm, steady pressure. Tony slid a finger under the ropes for a moment, then began to caress Steve’s bound arms, running his hands up and down. Steve let out a shuddering breath.

Tony pressed his cheek against Steve’s neck. “How’s that, babe? You okay?” Steve nodded and took another shuddering breath.

Tony’s hands were a constant presence as Tony stood and walked around to stand in front of Steve, hand still resting in his hair. Tony was naked, his cock hard, and Steve’s mouth fell open at the sight of it, flushed and leaking so close to his face, but then Tony knelt in front of him and cupped Steve’s face in his hands. Tony knelt there, examining Steve so intently it felt hard to breathe, hard to think. It was like Tony was analyzing him, taking him apart, pulling away layer after layer. (Touch me! Say something! Do something. I--)

“You’re beautiful,” Tony whispered. 

Tony kissed him very lightly on the lips, running his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve wanted to squirm closer, but Tony hadn’t said he could move. He twisted his hands, testing the feeling of the ropes around his wrists. ( _Oh_. It’s like you’re holding me . . . ) Steve gasped. 

Tony gave him another kiss, chaste and gentle. Steve panted into it. Tony left soft kisses all over his face, gently massaging his scalp. Steve tried not to fidget. (Be still. Be good.) 

Then Tony clenched Steve’s hair in his fist and jerked his head back sharply. Steve gasped and cried out as Tony bit his neck, worrying at it with his teeth. Tony rose up on his knees to lean over Steve and take his mouth in a fierce kiss. His tongue fucked in and out of Steve’s mouth, hot, heavy, wet. Steve forgot to breathe. His whole body was throbbing. He felt dizzy.

(Oh God.) 

When he finally pulled away, Tony was panting heavily. He ran his hand up and down Steve’s neck, alternating firm and light caresses. 

“Are you ready for your first lesson, baby?” he asked softly. “You’re gonna learn to take my cock so I can fuck your face.” Steve gasped again. (Fuck!) Tony kissed him gently on the forehead and whispered, “I’m gonna teach you. Are you ready?” 

Steve nodded, eager and dizzy, flushed and aching. 

“Listen, carefully, baby.” Tony’s voice was rough. “First you have to learn how to feel it, okay? You have to open your throat and keep it relaxed.” He ran his fingers up and down Steve’s throat, stroking him soothingly. “Can you relax for me, babe?” 

Steve opened his mouth and tried to concentrate on doing the same with his throat. (Open and relax. Relax your throat.) 

“Yeah, that’s good, sweetheart. Just focus on breathing. Relax.” 

Tony continued to pet him, stroking his shoulders gently. The frantic heat of Steve’s earlier arousal faded somewhat, now banked embers rather than open flame. The ropes around his wrists were like an embrace he could sink down into. 

“That’s good. Good boy,” Tony murmured. “Ready for more?” Steve gave a jerky nod and Tony kissed his forehead again. “I brought you a glass of water. I’m going to tip the cup to your lips and I want you to take some, just a tiny bit, then hold it in your mouth. Don’t swallow. Just let a little trickle down your throat. Focus on that feeling, relaxing your throat, staying open.”

Tony reached around Steve for a small glass of water. 

“Ready?”

Steve nodded, still focusing on staying open, relaxed. Tony raised the cup to Steve’s lips, very, very slowly with a look of intense concentration. 

“Close your lips once you’ve got a little water and I’ll take the cup away. Don’t take too much.”

(Too late!) Steve thought he was only taking a little, but it was far too much. He swallowed. His throat closing felt like failure and he frowned. 

“Shhhh,” Tony said, touching his furrowed brow with a light fingertip. “This time take less water. Then open your mouth again and let it trickle down the back of your throat. Concentrate on the feeling.”

Steve could feel a trickle of water easing down his throat (relaxed, open), but he swallowed half-way through his tiny mouthful. (It _tickles_.)

“Better,” Tony said, caressing Steve’s cheek. “It’s a hard skill. You can’t learn it all at once. Try again.” 

Steve gave another tiny nod; Tony gave him another kiss.

“Good boy.” Tony raised the cup. “Again.” 

They repeated the lesson three more times, Tony crooning praise and encouragement while Steve concentrated on the strange sensations. It was hard to imagine how a tiny trickle of ticklish water would help him take Tony’s cock the way he wanted, but if Tony thought it would help he was happy to try. (I’ll be so good . . . so good for you . . .)

“Are you starting to get a feel for it? Staying open, relaxing for me?” Tony asked. Steve nodded. “You’re beautiful like this. I can’t wait to fuck your throat, just like you asked.” 

And then Tony _licked_ Steve’s throat before leaving kisses along his jaw. Steve shuddered. 

“Ready for part two?” (Please!) “Yeah, good. You’ll like this part. Bet you’d beg for it if I asked you to.” Tony leaned back to rest on his heels. “But you don’t have to. Not now. Now you can have my cock. You want it, don’t you?” 

(Yes!)

Tony’s hands were warm as he cupped Steve’s face, looking at him with great concentration. Steve pressed his cheek against Tony’s palm. Having his hands bound behind him back made him feel vulnerable and off balance (but I could break the cords easily, so why is that?)-- Tony grounded him and he just wanted to nuzzle the man’s hand, lick and kiss him. 

“Yeah, I know, sweetheart.” Tony smiled. “Now, I want you to bend over and take my cock in your mouth, as far down as you can comfortably. Move slowly. Focus on relaxing your throat like you just did. Let my cock touch the back of your throat and try not to gag. Just touch though; don’t try to push it for now. Ready?” 

Steve nodded, cheek pressed against Tony’s palm, but then Tony was leaning back, taking his hand away. It left Steve momentarily unbalanced. He looked up at Tony who was giving him this open, expectant look.

Steve bent over for Tony’s cock, a little awkward, a little unbalanced. The ropes pressed against his wrists as he moved. (Oh God!) It felt amazing. With his knees spread, hands behind his back, he felt open and exposed and so ready to be fucked it made him shiver. (Maybe Tony would after his lesson?) Not that he wanted to rush the lesson. He wanted to take Tony down his throat so badly he could taste it. 

Just the feeling of opening his mouth wide for Tony’s cock was amazing. (Oh, fuck, yes.) Steve mouthed at the head caressing it with his lips for a moment. Tony’s precum tasted bitter and a little salty. Steve moved forward eagerly. He tried to go slowly but on his first attempt he gagged and jerked back, then pressed forward again, determined. He gagged again.

“Wait, wait,” Tony said, voice a little ragged. He carded his fingers through Steve’s hair, then tightened his grip to keep Steve from moving forward again. Steve knelt, hands bound, Tony’s cock still in his mouth, unable to move his head as Tony held him in place and continued talking:

“You have to give yourself a moment to recover. It’s a reflex you’re trying to control. Once you set it off, you have to take time to reset. Relax and—“ Steve moved his tongue against Tony’s shaft. “Just, _oh yeah_ , just suck me like that for a few seconds, then . . . then . . . try again.” Tony released his hair. 

(Yes!)

Steve moved up and down, sucking Tony’s cock, loving the feel of it, then he pulled back to lap at the head with his tongue. He wanted to touch Tony, wanted to touch himself. He could break the cords-- of course he could-- but Tony put them there so Steve wanted them to stay. _Not_ being able to touch himself was even better than touching himself.

Steve took a deep breath and concentrated. He tried to relax his throat again, wanting to stay open, to feel Tony inside him. 

“You’re amazing,” Tony murmured. “Look at you—so fucking eager, like you can’t get enough. You’re already so good at this.” 

Encouraged, Steve redoubled his efforts. (Relax.) Steve shifted slightly to change the angle. 

“You’re so hard working,” Tony rambled, “Bet you’ll want to practice all the time, won’t you babe? I’ll have to get you a dildo so you can keep working on it after I come. I’d never be able to keep up with your . . . ah! . . . enthusiasm and dedication. Oh fuck!”

Steve felt a surge of triumph. He could feel the head of Tony’s cock touching the back of his throat, still open, just resting there like Tony said. He tried to memorize the feel of it ( _relaxed, open_ ) and eased forward. He gagged. (No! Damn it!) A frustrated little noise escaped as he pulled back to suck Tony’s cock again.

“Shhhh,” Tony murmured, reaching down to caress his neck. “Easy, easy.”

Steve focused on his lesson with single-minded attention, pushing away his own arousal as much as he could. Tony’s praise and filthy muttering grew more and more ragged the longer Steve worked and, although it wasn’t quite the triumph he was working towards, it was very gratifying to hear Tony’s voice go more and more desperate until eventually (how long had it been?) Tony pulled Steve off his cock. 

“Good boy.”

TBC . . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to leave you there! Also, please be patient with naive, inexperienced Steve. He still has a lot to learn... *blush*
> 
> As always, thank you for reading! I am very thankful for all the support and enthusiasm you give me. It's a pleasure and a privilege to share my story with you.


	9. Chapter 9

Steve was sure Tony’d been close-- he let out a disappointed little sound. (Why didn’t you come? I want you to . . .) Tony was flushed and panting, wild-eyed as he looked at Steve, studying him again. Tony held his hair tight with his left hand and caressed Steve’s face lightly with his right. When he ran his fingers across Steve’s lips, Steve opened his mouth to pull them inside and suck. Tony’s breath hitched. 

“You still okay, babe?” Tony asked. Steve just sucked Tony’s fingers some more and let out a muffled little, “Mmmm.”

Tony pulled his fingers away, dropping his hands to Steve’s shoulders as he asked, “What do you want, sweetheart?”

“ _You_.” It came out a rough whisper. Steve wanted to inch closer on his knees, rub up against Tony like a cat. 

Tony let out a rough chuckle. “You’ve got me, Steve.” He squeezed Steve’s shoulder. “I’m right here. Tell me what you want. What do you want to do right now?”

“Make you come.” He answered instantly, without thinking. He bowed his head, eyes downcast. “ _Please_.” 

“Are you going to beg for it?” 

Steve took a sharp breath. He nodded.

“Go on, baby.” Tony let go of his shoulders and leaned back. “Beg,” he ordered.

(Oh God.) 

“ _Tony_ ,” Steve wined, face burning. Suddenly, he couldn’t find words or get enough air. He closed his eyes.

“Please, Tony. I . . .” (Go on. Say it.) “I want your cock. I want to drive you crazy, make you come. Please let me.”

Steve felt a swirling sense of arousal, abandon, and something like embarrassment or even shame but it was a heady rush and he wanted more of it. (All yours . . . for you, Tony . . . you’re in charge . . . yeah, make me beg . . . )

“I . . . I’ll be good.” Steve could hear Tony panting. The words came more easily now. “I’ll make it so good for you. Please, I want you so bad. . . ”

“I want to suck your cock . . . want you to fuck my face until you come and make me swallow it all. Tony, I—” He’d run out of words. “Tony, please?”

“Good boy,” Tony growled. ( _Oh_.) Waves of relief coursed through Steve and he felt a sense of distant surprise at their intensity. (I did well. I got it right.) Steve flushed with pride.

“Go on then. Suck my cock.”

Steve lowered himself forward as gracefully as he could with his hands bound behind him. He lapped at Tony’s dick, then pressed lower to suck and lick Tony’s balls, trying not to tickle. 

“Mmmm,” Tony murmured and spread his legs a little wider. Steve took his time, lavishing his attention there. Tony smelled amazing, somehow earthy and rich and overwhelming. Steve realized with another distant flare of almost-shame that his mouth and chin were sloppy with his own spit and Tony’s cock and balls were wet with it. Steve moaned. He shifted his attention up to take Tony’s dick in his mouth, sliding down and back, down and back, slow and teasing, massaging the shaft with his tongue. (I’ll make it so good . . . You feel so good, so amazing . . .) Down and back, down and back. . . 

“Steve!”

Tony fisted Steve’s hair and pulled him away. (No! What--?) Tony rose up on his knees, then pulled Steve back onto his dick. (Oh, good. . .) From this position, Tony could now thrust his hips, driving his cock into Steve’s eager mouth, holding his head in place with both hands. It was a little awkward—Steve’s muscles were tensed to hold him at the strange angle and he might have lost his balance without Tony’s firm grip. (Tony’s holding me up . . .)

“This is what you wanted, isn’t it, baby?” Tony asked roughly. 

“Mmmm!”

“Yeah, and soon, soon you’ll be ready for me to fuck your throat . . . so good . . . oh fuck! Steve!” 

Steve relaxed into it, letting Tony hold him up, letting Tony move him, use his mouth and fuck his face. Steve felt thrilled and breathless, so aroused he might explode but somehow calm at the same time. (Tony’s in charge . . . I’m pleasing him . . .) 

“Take it! Oh fuck, take it!”

A few more harsh pulls to his hair, a sharp thrust—Tony froze, gasped, then flooded Steve’s mouth with cum. Steve swallowed as much as he could, as Tony continued to give stuttering little thrusts through his orgasm. When Tony pulled out, a little cum and spit trickled from the corner of Steve’s mouth and down his chin. Steve panted, trying to catch his breath. He squirmed—his hands were tied tight. He couldn’t wipe his chin. (Oh God, I’ve got Tony’s cum on me . . . I can't move. . . _oh!_ )

“ _Steve_ ,” Tony gasped. He dragged Steve up flush against him, chest to chest. Tony licked the cum from Steve’s face then seized his mouth in a fierce kiss. (Fuck!) He wrapped one hand around Steve’s throat, a firm presence without cutting off his air. Tony’s grip in Steve’s hair eased slowly as his kisses turned languid, slow deep swipes of tongue. Eventually, Tony pulled back to kiss Steve’s forehead, petting his hair gently and murmuring to him:

“You’re beautiful . . . you’re so good, Steve . . . I’ve got you. . . . I’ve got you, baby.”

Tony shifted around and pulled Steve onto his lap. It should have been awkward with their relative sizes, and maybe it would look awkward to an outsider, but it felt amazing. Tony was lax and languid from his orgasm (I did that!) and Steve felt proud and content, nuzzling Tony’s neck and shoulder, his hands still bound behind him. The bonds were starting to produce a dull, but not unpleasant, ache. His cock was hard, desperate for attention and weeping precum, but he could wait if Tony wanted him to. He rubbed his body—cheek, chest, shoulder, legs-- against Tony like a cat while Tony pet him, but he couldn’t get any friction on his dick and he probably shouldn’t try to. (“Don’t touch yourself,” Tony’d said. “Don’t you fucking dare.”)

“Steve?” Tony asked softly. “You with me?”

“Mmmm,” Steve murmured, nuzzling Tony’s neck. Tony twisted to kiss him on the forehead. 

“I want you to get up and kneel on the bed for me facing the headboard.” 

Steve hastened to obey. He scrambled onto the bed, then knelt, legs spread wide, head bowed. Over his shoulder, Tony was doing something with the tray or box or whatever—Steve still hadn’t gotten a look at it and wasn’t sure he wanted to. It was cold without Tony touching him. He shivered a little. What was Tony planning?

A light touch to his shoulder and the bed dipped beside him. Tony raised Steve’s head with gentle fingers at his chin. Steve’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of Tony’s face, his rich brown eyes, his lopsided private smile—not the bright, public Stark smile. (I love you . . . I love you so much . . . )

“Are you thirsty, baby? I brought you a glass of water.”

Was he thirsty? Steve wasn’t sure that he was, but he was sure he wanted to watch Tony guide the cup to his lips so carefully and tenderly. Steve nodded and Tony smiled at him. 

“Here, baby.”

Tony gently tipped the cup to Steve’s lips for him. The cords at his wrists were a tight embrace, his shoulders suffused with a soft ache; Steve felt helpless and dependent and wonderful. He drank deep, surprised to find that, yes, he was quite thirsty in fact.

“Good boy.” Tony kissed him again, warm and gentle. “I’m going to untie you now, baby.”

Disappointed, Steve nearly asked why. Did Tony think he was upset? Or hadn’t done well? Or was Tony just moving to something else now? Would he need his hands? Steve bit his lip.

Little by little the ropes were unwound. Once Steve’s wrists were free Tony shifted back around and lifted them, right then left, to examine them. Whatever he saw must have satisfied him, because he nodded to himself and then caressed them lightly with his fingers. 

“Lie down on your stomach, sweetheart.” 

Steve obeyed, breath hitching a little as his hard cock pressed down against the bed. He heard Tony open the cap on some sort of bottle, then a wet noise. Tony’s hands were slick with oil when he touched Steve’s shoulders with a firm pressure. Tony pressed down where Steve’s shoulders had grown a little stiff. 

“Mmmmm.” Steve let out a lazy moan and smiled. ( _Tony_. . . ) Above him Tony gave a warm little chuckle as he continued to knead Steve’s neck and shoulders, pressing down hard with his thumbs. It felt amazing. (No one has ever touched me like this . . . God, you’re amazing.) While Tony massaged him, Steve started to roll his hips, unthinking, against the mattress, giving his aching dick some of the friction he’d been longing for.

“Hey!” Tony brought his hand down, giving Steve a sharp smack on the ass. “None of that!”

Steve jolted then went still. Tony hadn’t hit him hard—it hadn’t really even hurt, just made a loud noise and startled him, but it had been thrilling and surprising and . . . hm. (Maybe spanking needed to go on the ‘like’ list after all….) 

Tony pet the spot he’d swatted and said, “I don’t want you rubbing off on the mattress. You’ll come when I say you can.”

(Oh fuck!) 

Steve nodded. Then Tony swung his leg over to straddle Steve’s back. Steve held his breath, thrilled by the weight of Tony’s body on top of him. Using the added leverage, Tony went back to massaging Steve’s neck and shoulders, his hands warm and soothing. Steve took long, deep breaths, relaxing more and more. 

“You looked beautiful bound for me, Steve,” Tony murmured as he slid his hands down Steve’s arms to lavish attention on his wrists. Tony leaned down to kiss Steve’s wrist and palm as he added, “Tied up and desperate. I loved seeing you like that.” 

Steve let out a happy sigh and felt like he was preening inwardly. (It’s not like I did something amazing . . . Why do I feel so absurdly proud? Because. Just, because.) Steve sighed again, letting go of his lingering uncertainty and going more and more languid under Tony’s attentions. (I made Tony happy. Doesn’t matter. Don’t over-think it. . . .) He was still hard, but not aching; his lingering arousal felt like a vague buzzing in the background. Steve lost track of time, lulled by Tony’s affectionate touches. 

“You feel so good,” Tony whispered softly. He leaned down to kiss Steve’s neck and shoulders, and Steve stirred a little and turned his head for a kiss. The angle was awkward, but Tony’s lips were warm and soft. 

Then Tony laid next to Steve and propped up on one elbow to look down at him. Tony turned from the firm massage to long, slow strokes down Steve’s back. Tony drizzled oil down his spine, his hands sliding smooth across Steve’s skin. Tony’s caresses moved lower, little by little, and heat pooled in Steve’s belly again. With each stroke Tony’s hand moved lower and lower, and Steve’s arousal wound tighter and tighter. Soon, Tony was stroking his palm across Steve’s ass. Steve held his breath. He felt certain he was starting to blush.

“Steve?” Tony asked softly. “Have you ever touched yourself _here_.” Tony slid his fingers lightly down Steve’s crack. Steve struggled not to rock against the mattress or spread his legs. (Don’t move. Be good!) He gave a sharp little nod. 

“Like this?” Tony breathed. He slid his slick fingers down a little, caressing lightly between Steve’s cheeks, rubbing gently at his hole. Steve jerked involuntarily at the touch and let out a little gasp, then nodded again. His hips jerked again.

“Shhh,” Tony said. “None of that. Come on—lift up off the mattress, here.” Tony pulled Steve’s hips up and soon Steve was rearranged as Tony wanted: his ass in the air, his legs spread, and his cock and balls hanging heavily, while his torso was still down, pressed against the bed. Tony sat up beside him, one hand stroking and soothing Steve’s arched back, the other between his legs, teasing his cock then skating lightly across his hole. 

Steve’s body twitched and jerked. 

“Tell me, Steve,” Tony said, tone seductive. “You’ve touched yourself here before?”

“Y--yes,” Steve whispered. 

“Like this?” With one slim, slick finger, Tony rubbed very gently at Steve’s entrance.

“Yes.”

“Have you pressed inside?” Tony asked softly. “Have you fingered yourself?”

Steve couldn’t seem to breathe. His face was scalding. He nodded, cheek pressed against the sheets.

“Answer me,” Tony ordered.

“Yes.” It came out a rough whisper. Tony caressed him _there_ with a little more pressure.

“How many fingers?”

Steve swallowed and licked his lips. “T—Two.”

Tony pressed down a little harder, but not with the tip, not opening him up just pressing against him. 

“What did you think about, Steve? When you fingered yourself.”

Steve shuddered as he choked out, “You, Tony . . . you, always you. . . you . . .” Steve couldn’t get enough air, couldn’t put it into words. (You fucking me . . . being spitted on your cock . . . pinned down, spread open . . . taken, claimed . . . ) He couldn’t hold still any longer—he jerked back and forth desperately. 

“Tony,” Steve whispered, voice wrecked. “ _Please_ . . . please, fuck me . . . please, I—“

“Shhh.” Tony just continued with the teasing caress. Steve’s hands fisted helplessly in the sheets. He pressed his burning cheek against the mattress and struggled to keep control. (Don’t cry . . . don’t . . .) A strangled little noise escaped his throat. 

“Shhhh,” Tony soothed. “Roll over on your back for me, Steve.” 

Steve rolled over, gasping and overwhelmed. He turned away and threw his arm over his face, hiding, his eyes squeezed shut. Beside him, he heard Tony wipe his hands on the sheets, then he moved Steve’s arm aside to cupped Steve’s face with his hands. He kissed Steve’s eyelids very softly, then pressed his forehead to Steve’s and whispered against his lips, “Shhhh, I’ve got you, baby. . . I’ve got you.” He kissed Steve softly, caressing his scalp with gentle fingers. Steve returned the kiss, pressing his tongue into Tony’s mouth. 

“Mmmm,” Tony murmured. He pulled back and Steve let his eyelids flutter open. Tony was staring at him, brown eyes half-lidded, pupils blown with arousal, but still intent, studying Steve carefully. Steve stared back, in love with every line of Tony’s face: the specks of grey in his goatee, the first hints of crowfeet, the flecks of gold in the brown of his eyes, the tiny scar at his temple, faded over the decades. ( _I love you . . . I love you . . ._ )

Tony stroked his chest, teasing his nipples. He kissed his way down Steve’s body, making him gasp and jerk, as he reached for something at the end of the bed. Tony came back with a pair of padded leather restraints. They had heavy metal buckles and a thick metal hoop in the middle. He held them up for Steve to see. 

“These are for you, love,” Tony said softly, petting his hair. “Do you like them?”

Steve nodded frantically. Tony smiled and kissed his forehead.

“They’re for you and I wanted to offer them to you tonight. I’d like to see you in them. I’d like to cuff you to the headboard, but we don’t have to do that now. We have lots of time.” He caressed Steve’s cheek, looking down at him with an expression so tender Steve thought his heart might burst. (Not really . . . ridiculous, but that’s what it feels like . . . oh fuck, Tony. . . ) 

“Tell me what you want, sweetheart.” 

Steve opened and closed his mouth, struggling with words for a few seconds. Then he gave Tony shy smile, but moved without hesitation. 

Steve held his wrists out to Tony. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Um, sorry to leave you here... I thought about waiting until I could post the events of the entire night, but the next bit might take a little while and I was eager to share what I have. Hope you like it! 
> 
> I'm so grateful for all your encouragement. (Please picture me blushing and biting my lip like Steve...)
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve held his wrists out to Tony.

Tony closed his eyes and took a shuddering breath. “Yeah,” he breathed, taking Steve’s left wrist. “They’ll look beautiful on you.”

Tony stroked the soft skin of Steve’s wrist gently with his thumb. He wrapped the first restraint tight, threaded the leather strap through the buckle, then closed again. The leather was soft and well-padded, the metal buckles heavy and thick. It felt like a second skin or like Tony’s hand clasping him firmly. Tony closed Steve’s right wrist in the second cuff. 

“Does that feel good, baby?” Tony asked, voice a little rough. Steve nodded and, since he wasn’t cuffed to anything yet, took the opportunity to reach up and touch Tony’s face, to run his fingers along his neck, his shoulders, his chest. He’d hardly gotten to touch Tony at all tonight. He gave a little tug and Tony obliged him with a smile, leaning down for a kiss. Steve parted his lips, licked Tony’s until they parted too, and Steve could press his tongue into Tony’s mouth, hot and wet. He let his hands rove Tony’s body, caressing his back then pulling him close. Tony let out a little ‘ouph’ as he collapsed against Steve. 

“Easy there, babe,” Tony said, tone amused. (Oops. Pulled a little too hard…) Steve eased his grip, but continued stroking Tony’s back urgently and then (feeling bold) slid a hand down to the curve of his ass. Steve could feel Tony’s cock against his hip-- he was hard again. Steve moaned into Tony’s mouth and kissed him rough and frantic until he had to break away for air. ( _Please . . . fuck!_ ) He couldn’t keep his hips still.

Tony propped up on one elbow and smoothed Steve’s hair away from his forehead.

“You ready, baby?” Tony asked sitting up a little.

Steve nodded. (Yes! Anything . . . everything . . . please!)

Tony held out his hands expectantly, looking at the restraints, and Steve placed his wrists in Tony’s open hands. Tony kissed his palms quickly, one then the other, and pushed Steve’s wrists up to the headboard. 

“Don’t move,” Tony ordered. “Stay just like that for me, Steve.” 

Tony shuffled down the bed to search for something in his bag. Steve was breathing heavily, struggling not to move, to stay calm. Tony slid back up the bed holding two heavy clips and with a deft motion snapped the rings on Steve’s cuffs to the d-rings in the headboard. (Those weren’t there before, were they?)

Steve’s elbows were slightly bent, his wrists clipped low on the headboard. He gave a tiny, experimental tug, then went still. (Is that okay?) He looked at Tony uncertainly.

Tony smiled as he said, “They’re not tremendously sturdy. Certainly not built for a super soldier. Not yet anyway.” Tony dropped his voice lower as he leaned in and said, “But you don’t really want to pull free, do you sweetheart? You want to keep your hands right where I put them, don’t you?”

(Oh fuck!)

Steve nodded. 

“Good boy.” 

Steve trembled. Tony straddled him, sitting up on his knees. Tony ran his hands from the restraints down to Steve’s shoulders and back. Steve stared up at him, savoring his lithe, powerful muscles and the otherworldly beauty of the arc reactor. (You’re so strong. . . )

Tony leaned down to trade hot, open-mouthed kisses that left Steve breathless. As they kissed, Tony brought one hand up to curl lightly around his throat. The feeling was surprisingly intense—though gentle, there was something masterful about Tony’s touch there. Steve whimpered and his body twitched, hips bucking. When Tony pulled back, Steve started to strain up, wanting to follow, but Tony’s hand at his throat stopped him. He fell back, bound and helpless, gasping and squirming. 

“I’ve got you,” Tony murmured, then he stretched out on top of Steve bringing all that hot, delicious skin into contact with his own. Steve threw his head back, panting and unable to hold still. Their cocks rubbed together and Steve let out a cry. Tony was panting too. He lifted his hips a little, denying Steve friction _there_. 

Tony mumbled to Steve with a wry smile, “Good thing we took the edge off earlier.”

Steve couldn’t find words to answer, just strained forward for another kiss or _something_ , but Tony was shifting down his body, covering Steve’s chest in kisses and caresses. Tony sucked his nipple and Steve jerked up off the mattress like he’d gotten an electric shock. (oh God . . . fuck . . . please. . . ) Tony licked and played with his other nipple and Steve found it hard to breathe. It felt like Tony was everywhere at once, holding him to the headboard, sucking his nipples, caressing his hips, his legs. (Tony . . . Tony . . . !) 

Little by little, Tony worked his way down Steve’s body, caressing his chest, his ribs, his stomach. He paused, hovering over Steve’s cock, before lavishing attention on Steve’s hipbones, nipping and sucking first one then the other. Steve tried to hold still, but his body shuddered and jerked eagerly under Tony’s attentions. His movement pulled at the restraints—Steve moaned. 

“Yeah, that’s it, sweetheart,” Tony said, settling between Steve’s spread legs. He held Steve’s hip down with one hand and stroked his inner thighs with the other. 

“You’re so beautiful, Steve,” Tony said in an awed tone, moving his hand to the curve of Steve’s ass. “You want it so bad, don’t you?”

Tony worked a hand under him, massaging and caressing his ass. Steve tilted his hips up, eager for more, for Tony . . . _there._ He heard Tony uncap the bottle again. Tony’s fingers returned slick and wet, to stroke his crack with long, slow touches. 

“You’re so good, baby,” Tony mumbled, pressing a kiss to Steve’s thigh. 

Steve held his breath as Tony brought one wet fingertip to his hole. ( _Please . . .please . . . please . . ._ ) Tony rubbed soft, gentle little circles at Steve’s entrance once again, but still without giving him what he wanted, not pressing inside. 

“What do you want?” Tony murmured. 

“ _You_.” Steve’s voice sounded like he was breaking into a million pieces, like he was in pain. “Please! In-- inside me. . .” His face was scalding; he pressed his cheek against his bound arm and closed his eyes.

Tony pressed at his entrance with slightly more pressure. Steve held his breath, but then Tony was pulling away again, barely touching him.

“If you want me _there_ , then you have to relax a little for me, sweetheart,” Tony said. “You’re too tense.” 

Tony pressed another kiss to Steve’s thigh, then his knee. “Come on, babe. You need to breathe for me. No holding your breath.” Tony reached up to lay a hand on Steve’s chest. “Breathe with me,” Tony said then took a long deep breath. Steve opened his eyes and matched Tony’s breathing. They exhaled together. Then took another deep breath together. Steve watched the rise and fall of Tony’s chest, the movement of the arc reactor.

“Good,” Tony said, still rubbing teasing little circles lightly at Steve’s entrance. “Deep breaths. Relax. Good . . . you’re so good. . .” 

In. Out. In. Out. 

“So gorgeous, Steve,” Tony murmured, still teasing between Steve’s legs. “Spread out and restrained for me like this. You’re so good . . .”

Steve concentrated on breathing. In. Out. In. Out.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good,” Tony promised roughly. 

Little by little, Steve uncoiled, his chest rising and falling with long, even breaths while Tony stroked him. 

“Tony, _please_ ,” Steve whispered. 

“Yeah,” Tony breathed, and then he was pressing more firmly against Steve’s slicked entrance and pushing one slim fingertip inside, just barely, up to the first knuckle. (Breathe—Tony told you to. . .) Tony made a tiny circular motion, similar to before, but _inside_ , caressing the rim of Steve’s entrance. 

“ _Ah!_ ” Steve let out a little gasp as he exhaled. (Keep breathing . . .) Tony grabbed the bottle and now there was more slick and Tony was pushing in a little farther, then pulling back, then in a little more, working his finger deeper into Steve’s tight body. 

(Finally, _finally_ . . . Tony! Oh God . . . It’s like you’re fucking me . . . Oh God, breathe. . . )

Steve rolled his hips and rocked back onto Tony’s finger. Tony let out a strangled noise, but just kept slowly pulling out and pushing back in with one finger. (Not enough . . . more . . . more. . . )

Tony crooked his finger. 

“Ah!”

A sharp jolt of pleasure shot through Steve’s body-- he arched off the bed, pulling against the restraints which held him in place. The headboard creaked and Steve pressed his wrists back into place. (Be good! Stay there!) 

“Oh, fuck, you’re gorgeous like this,” Tony growled. He pulled out and pushed in very slowly. Steve panted and rocked back wanting more, harder. Steve could hear Tony breathing heavily. 

Tony licked his lips. “Pull your knees up to your chest for me, baby.”

Tony guided him gently with his right hand as Steve curled up, lifting his legs. He was so exposed: spread open, tied up, and desperate to be fucked. (Oh God.) He trembled.

“Can you stay like that for me?” Tony asked softly. Steve couldn’t answer, just held his knees where Tony had placed them. 

“Maybe sometime I’ll tie you up just like this then play with you for hours, drive you crazy.”

(Oh!)

Then Tony was dragging his finger out of Steve’s body, pressing back in—slowly, gently, carefully, sometimes crooking his finger and making Steve see stars, sometimes twisting his hand to pull and stretch his rim. (Not enough . . . more . . . more . . .)

Steve wanted Tony so badly it was almost pain. He couldn’t explain it—it didn’t make sense. (Fuck me, Tony . . . please . . . wanna feel you inside me. . .) Steve’s chest felt tight and he was grateful Tony had ordered him to breathe. (Not enough . . . need your cock . . .) He rocked back on Tony’s finger as much as he could without moving his knees from his chest or pulling his restraints from the headboard. (Keep your hands there . . . Tony put them there . . .) Steve arched and cried out as Tony crooked his finger inside him again. (Oh, fuck me! Take me . . . claim me. . . make me yours . . . please . . . please, Tony)

“Shhhh, baby. There’s no hurry,” Tony murmured with a soothing little caress down his side. Steve blinked and bit his lip. Steve hadn’t realized he was saying anything aloud until Tony answered. “Shhhh . . . You are mine.”

And then Tony was coming back with a second finger, teasing the outside of Steve’s hole with it while he moved the first in and out. Needy, desperate noises fell from Steve’s mouth unbidden. ( _Breathe, breathe. . ._ ) As Tony pushed inside with a second finger, for a moment there was resistance, an almost burn, but then Steve pushed back and the two fingers slid in without difficulty. 

“Fuck! Look at you,” Tony growled, voice low and heavy with lust, “opening up for me like that. Good boy.” 

(Yes!)

“Does that feel good?” Tony asked. Steve felt too lost to answer. He panted wetly, his flushed face still tucked against one of his bound arms. Steve tried to stay still, but couldn’t stop himself from rocking a little on Tony’s fingers, pressing back to meet him as he moved inside. Tony grabbed his hip with one hand and held him in place, hard. (pinned down, pried open . . .)

“Stay,” Tony said, his voice a commanding rumble that did something funny to Steve’s chest. Steve froze. “Shhhh,” Tony murmured and then he _spread his fingers_ and rotated his wrist in little motions, like Steve was a jar he was working open little by little. (Oh God.) There was an ache to the feeling, but not a bad one. Tony scissored his fingers wider and wider as he pressed in and out, then crooked his fingers and sent Steve arching off the bed. 

“Ah!”

“You like that, don’t you, baby?” Tony asked. “This is what you want, isn’t it? To be opened up for me.”

Tony drizzled oil down Steve’s crack and then his fingers slid more easily, slowly in then out, in then out, driving Steve half-mad with the need for more, harder, faster. 

Then Tony closed a hand firmly around his balls, not quite pain but an intense sensation; Tony took Steve’s cock in his mouth and made him wail. He wanted to come so badly it hurt, but he couldn’t. (Not allowed . . . don’t you dare. . .) Tony tugged at his balls and it pushed the urgency away a bit, but only a little and Steve fought himself to stay still ( be good!) but couldn’t stop fucking up a little, pushing his aching cock up into all the wet tight heat of Tony’s mouth. (Breathe, breathe…)

Tony pulled off his cock, murmuring wordless little noises and caressing his hips as he pushed his fingers in and out of Steve’s body again and again. There was a loud noise filling the room and Steve realized with a strange distance that it was his own voice moaning and crying out, as Tony went on and on, leaning down to lick at his cock until he was at the brink, then and pulling back. Steve bit his lip and tried to quiet himself, but it felt like he was floating in some strange place where everything was desperate and urgent but calm at the same time. On and on . . . in and out . . . Steve threw his head from side to side, swept up in the waves of sensation, whimpering, gasping, moaning. A single tear escaped from Steve’s eye and slid down his cheek.

Then, (thank you, thank you . . . ) Tony was entering Steve harder and faster. (Oh fuck! Please, please, please . . .) 

“Go on,” Tony said, voice low as he released Steve’s hip, “fuck yourself on my fingers.” 

Steve let out a strangled noise and rocked forward and back, curling and uncurling, to help drive Tony’s fingers harder and deeper inside him. (Fuck me!) Tony licked his cock. 

“Look at you. You love it, don’t you? Love fucking yourself on my fingers, feeling me inside you like that, opening you up. Fuck! Just like that, baby.” 

Tony crooked his fingers and rubbed inside him hard. Steve arched and cried out again. 

“That’s the spot, isn’t it? You like me nailing your prostate, making you gasp and moan. Maybe I’ll tie you down and make you take it until you scream.”

(Tony . . . Tony . . . Tony . . . )

Steve was swimming through paradox, frantic but calm, desperate but content. . . It was like being underwater, but warm not cold. Floating, floating . . . He felt like he was being held by Tony everywhere at once. 

“So beautiful, Steve. So good for me.”

(I love you . . . I love you . . .)

Steve raised his head to look at Tony, trying to focus on him, on this moment, things that made Tony _Tony_ and the man he loved: the arc reactor, the strange goatee, the intelligence in his eyes, the scars from battles and the burn marks from his workshop and the look on his face, not smiling right now, no-- too intense, too focused for that, but full of awe and affection and concentration and . . .

( _Love. You love me. You really do_.) 

“Go ahead and move, baby,” Tony said, his voice rough and gravelly, deep and sexy. “Fuck yourself on my fingers.” 

Steve bucked back hard, panting. Tony licked his cock teasingly, then added, “Go on and fuck my mouth too. Let yourself come. You have permission now-- I want you to come.” 

Then Tony leaned forward and took Steve’s cock in his mouth, all glorious wet hot pressure, while Steve arched and bucked—fucking up into Tony’s mouth, then fucking back onto Tony’s fingers, up and down, in and out. Steve wailed and thrashed, wrists jerking against the restraints as he tried to keep them still, all his muscles tensed, desperate and overwhelmed and open and taken and cherished and loved and . . .

Steve came shuddering and trembling in waves of pleasure that went on and on as Tony swallowed and swallowed, fingers still moving in and out, and everythingwas so breathtaking Steve thought he might faint. 

( _Oh God. Tony . . ._ )

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it took me so long to get this chapter to you and thank you so much for all your encouragement! I found this chapter unexpectedly hard to write and I've been a bit under the weather lately....
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!


	11. Chapter 11

Steve came in hot thick pulses, pouring into Tony’s mouth; he clenched hard around Tony’s fingers as the waves of his orgasm washed over him. 

(Fuck! Steve, oh fuck!)

Tony swallowed the last of Steve’s come, then let Steve’s cock fall from his mouth and pressed his cheek against Steve’s thigh. Tony grabbed his dick. He fucked his fist hard and fast, slick with lube, desperate to come with Steve still clenched hard around his fingers, the taste of Steve’s come heavy on his tongue, the sounds of Steve’s pleasure—almost pained, like a beautiful anguish—throbbing in his ears and the sight of Steve undone and desperate dancing before his eyes. Tony’s hand flew up and down his cock, hard and fast, the sound of it loud and obscene.

(Oh! Oh!) 

Tony gasped. He came, shooting his come across the sheets and spattering the back of Steve’s thigh and ass. Tony shuddered, face pressed against Steve’s sweat slicked thigh. (Beautiful . . . perfect . . . oh fuck!) Tony felt flushed and warm. The moments slipped by as Tony tried to catch his breath. 

Slowly, Tony eased his fingers out of Steve’s hole and looked up at him. Steve’s body had gone lax, as though he were melting down into the bed. His lips were parted and his wide eyes were staring at the ceiling—he looked a little dazed. He was probably still under. 

“I’ve got you, babe,” Tony crooned petting Steve’s hip again. “You’re so good . . . so perfect . . .”

Tony should really clean Steve up. He paused, looking at his come on Steve’s body. (Oh fuck! Soon—soon, I’m gonna come all over you, paint you with it until you’re a gorgeous filthy mess for me. . .) He felt a surge of lust—all of it in his mind, his body too wrung out to even consider stirring a fourth time in one night.

Tony reached down to the end of the bed and fumbled around in his Kinky Sex With Steve bag. He pulled a wet wipe out of the container and, congratulating himself on his foresight, wiped his come from Steve’s skin before it could dry into an uncomfortable mess. Then he wiped the lube from Steve’s ass and gently cleaned his rim. Tony wiped his own fingers clean, tossed the towelette aside, and shimmied up the bed. 

“You’ve been so good, baby,” Tony whispered, running his fingers through Steve’s hair then down his neck and shoulders, then up his arms. Steve was still looking a little out of it, eyes unfocused, dazed and distant. “So perfect for me . . .”

“I’m gonna unhook you now,” Tony said, reaching for the restraints, “but you did so well. I’m so proud of you.” 

Steve blinked. Tony unhooked Steve from the (hastily added…) d-rings then unclasped the restraints from around his wrists. Tony ran his tongue across Steve’s skin, tracing the place the restraints had been, then rubbed gently at them. (Everything looked fine. The restraints were very well padded and soft.) Steve twitched a little. When Tony released his hands, Steve’s arms flopped down to the bed, limp. Tony held back a chuckle—he felt rather boneless himself. 

Now Steve was shivering, so Tony grabbed the blanket and dragged it up around them. Tony propped up slightly against the headboard and pulled Steve into his arms. He stroked Steve’s hair and ran a hand up and down Steve’s back, murmuring softly, “You did so well . . . so proud of you, Steve . . . love you . . . I’ve got you, babe. . . ”

Steve’s shivering didn’t subside; in fact, he seemed to be shuddering more and more, breathing heavily. He made a little hiccupping noise. Tony pulled him closer, bringing more of their naked bodies in contact. “Shhhhh . . . shhhhh . . . I’ve got you . . .”

There was something wet on Tony’s shoulder. Tony realized with a jolt that Steve wasn’t just trembling, he was _crying_. Tony froze. Steve’s breath was hitching unevenly and his chest was heaving. 

Tony couldn’t breathe. His heart clenched. ( _No_ , please, no.) Steve’s eyes were bloodshot and his face was red, but not with blushing. (What have I done? Well, fucked up somehow, obviously.)

“Steve, what’s—” Tony snapped his mouth shut, not finishing his question as Steve hid his face against Tony’s shoulder, covering it with tears. (Stupid. Obviously he can’t tell you what’s wrong right now.)

Tony released his hold on Steve, unsure if he’d want to be held or if he’d want Tony to let him go, but as soon as he started to move away, Steve pressed closer, reaching around to clutch at Tony so hard he’d probably leave a bruise. Tony opened his mouth again to ask what was wrong, then bit his lip and held it in. He wrapped his arms around Steve once more.

(You can’t interrogate him right now. Right now you have to comfort him. He’s not pulling away—he still needs aftercare. He’s not gonna be able to talk about it yet.)

“It—” Tony was having trouble getting the words out. All of a sudden he was terribly thirsty, but he would have to let go of Steve to reach the water and that wasn’t an option. He licked his lips and tried again. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” Tony whispered, his voice rough and his eyes prickling. (Pathetic. Nothing’s happened to _you_.) Tony swallowed. (“Starks don’t cry.”) He took a deep breath.

“You’re so wonderful,” Tony murmured carding his fingers through Steve’s hair and rocking him gently as he spoke. 

(Maybe the crying isn’t a bad thing? Oh, yeah, ‘cause what people mean when they say ‘tears of joy’ is convulsive sobs. Right. Sure.) The sound of Steve’s sobbing echoed loudly in Tony’s expansive bedroom. 

“It’s okay. I’m here, Steve. I’m here. . .” 

(‘I’m here’—yeah, great comfort. You’re the asshole who fucked up. But how?) 

Tony tried to push aside the inevitable post-mortem of their scene, knew he’d dissect it minute by minute, move by move, he’d figure it out, but right now Steve needed him. He kept his left arm firmly around Steve’s shoulders, a steady pressure he hoped would anchor him, and continued stroking Steve’s hair, his cheek, neck, shoulders, back—any bared bits of Steve easily in reach that he could run his fingers over in a caress he hoped was comforting. 

“It’s okay, Steve. I’ve got you . . . you’re so good. . . It’s okay. . .” 

Steve was still shuddering and jerking in Tony’s arms, his body wracked with sobs. It was staggering how those movements—Steve, gasping and shuddering-- could look so similar to something joyful and erotic. The similarities-- and contrasts-- seemed cruel. Tony stroked Steve’s back with light fingertips. 

“You’re so good, so perfect, Steve. . . . I don’t deserve you.” (Well, that’s true at least.) 

Steve’s face was a mess—brow creased like he was in pain, bloodshot eyes staring distantly at the wall, his red face covered in tears and snot. It really should have been gross, but somehow it wasn’t. Tony reached to the nightstand for a tissue and swabbed awkwardly at Steve’s nose and upper lip, cleaning him up as best he could. Steve closed his eyes, and tipped his head down, away from Tony’s sight, cheek still pressed to Tony’s chest. 

Tony soon lost track of time, adrift in the repetitious motions of rocking Steve in his arms, stroking him like a cat, murmuring the same useless platitudes to him in a loop. Little by little, Steve’s heaving sobs diminished in frequency, subsiding to intermittent gasps and little tremors. 

“Shhhh . . . it’s okay. . .”

Tony took long, deep, even breaths and slowly Steve began to match him. In, out. In, out. After a few minutes, Tony whispered, “Steve?”

There was no answer, so he tried again, a little louder: “Steve? Would you like me to get you some water?”

No answer. Tony shifted a little and looked down at Steve. His eyes were shut, lashes damp against his cheeks, his mouth parted, face lax—he’d cried himself to sleep. 

Part of Tony wanted urgently to shake him awake, demand that they fix this immediately, but another part of him was desperately grateful for the reprieve, for time to think. He clutched Steve to his chest a little tighter.

What the fuck had happened? Had he really been so lost in it that he’d missed Steve’s cues so badly? Steve had seemed fine at the earlier check ins—how long had it been since the last one? Or, the last one Steve had seemed really coherent for? He’d gone non-verbal at some point. Tony wasn’t sure.

First, Tony tried to call up all the words he’d spoken. Maybe it was something he’d said, there at the end? Had some of the taboo dirty talk made it past his filters. He’d been planning to try some of that out on Steve another time, but wasn’t going to rush it. (Yeah, spread your legs, you fucking slut. You’re gagging for it, aren’t you? Such a filthy little slut for my cock . . .) No—Tony was sure he hadn’t crossed that line without noticing. He rambled during sex, but not mindlessly and even the filth he held back surely wouldn’t provoke _this_ , would it? Steve had liked the dirty talk so far. He’d said so! They’d actually talked about that. (If by talked, one meant exchanged digital post-it notes…) So, that wasn’t it. (Probably.)

Tony felt achy and fidgety, desperate to get out of bed, to go down to the workshop. He could get JARVIS to throw the surveillance video up on the screens for post-mortem. (And, shit, maybe he should have checked with Steve about that. . .) If Tony watched the footage, he’d have more accurate data. After all the human memory was far from perfect and he’d been especially distracted. (But he hadn’t—he had been focused on Steve. Hadn’t he?) Steve nuzzled Tony’s chest in his sleep and Tony firmly pushed away thoughts of his beautiful, serene workshop—he couldn’t leave Steve to wake up alone. 

Tony bit his lip and tried to get his (flawed, subjective) memories in order. 

It had obviously been intense for Steve, but he’d wanted that for him, thought it was what he wanted. Maybe it had just been too much all at once: Steve’s first bondage, first deep throat lessons, first gestures towards breathplay and spanking, lengthy orgasm denial, more control and domination than before, not to mention the first time anyone else had _ever_ penetrated Steve. Hell, _everything_ was Steve’s first time. 

_“Tony, until tonight I’d never even kissed with tongue.”_

(Oh fuck, why didn’t you slow down? Really, you should have known that would be too much all at once!)

Tony took a deep breath and tried to focus, isolate the problem. Was it just the aggregate, or had he crossed a specific boundary he hadn’t realized, touched an unexpected trigger. Had something reminded Steve of trauma from his past? They sure as shit both had enough traumatic events in their pasts for that to be a serious possibility. . . But wouldn’t Steve have used his safeword? Maybe he forgot his safeword? Was he so deep he went non-verbal and couldn’t remember what he needed to do to get free? But he could have pulled free easily—

Tony pictured it again (Beautiful, so beautiful . . .): Steve helpless and thrashing, perfectly able to break free but held in place by Tony’s will and his desire to obey. Tony frowned. (Oh fuck. Maybe that was it?)

_“You want to keep your hands right where I put them, don’t you?”_

(Maybe Steve changed his mind about being restrained and it was distressing him, but maybe he thought I wanted him to stay there no matter what. Did he do something distressing in an attempt to please me? 

_“Good boy . . . you’re so good for me . . .”_

Does he not understand that he can always say no, he doesn’t have to force himself to please me? Oh fuck. We really didn’t talk enough. He didn’t even know what a safeword was! Fuck, fuck, fuck.)

Tony had started to take short, fast little breaths as his thoughts spun round and round. He closed his eyes and focused on the warmth of Steve’s body against his, tried to take deep even breaths, synchronizing his breathing with Steve’s. (He’s right here.)

Tony tightened his arms around Steve. (He’ll leave.) Steve sighed in his sleep, face pressed against Tony’s chest, his breath fogging up the arc reactor. (No he won’t. He wouldn’t. You’re being stupid. Steve loves you.) Tony reached up to touch Steve’s hair, then pulled his hand back. (So did Pepper. Pepper left. You let her down over and over . . .) Tony wished he had a bedroom bot. It would be nice to have DUM-E bring him a bottle of water right now. (You’ve let Steve down too. Again, you fuck up.) 

Tony watched Steve sleep. He felt exhausted, but couldn’t get his racing thoughts to slow down. Besides, if this were the last time Steve would want Tony to hold him, he’d better take advantage of it. 

(Stupid. You’re being stupid. Steve would never give up on you that easily.) 

Tony took a deep breath. He settled back to run through the evening again (and again and again), waiting for Steve to wake up. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> (And, seriously, I'm sorry! Trust me, it hurt to write...)


	12. Chapter 12

When Steve woke up, it was still dark out. He felt a delicious languor in his muscles, but his eyes and throat were scratchy and dry. Tony’s body was pressed against his, warm and soothing. The rim of the arc reactor was a firm pressure at his shoulder blades, and Tony’s arms were tight around his chest. Steve stirred and stretched, then let out a murmuring little sigh. 

“Steve?” Tony whispered. 

“Mmmmm,” Steve mumbled groggily, nestling back in Tony’s embrace and rubbing his cheek against Tony’s arm.

“Are you awake?”

“Mmmmm-hmmmm.”

“I should get you some water, Steve. Okay?” 

Steve nodded and Tony pulled away, letting a little gust of cool air under the covers. It was dark in Tony’s bedroom, but Steve could see Tony’s beautiful form backlit by the blue light of the arc reactor. From the bathroom, Steve could hear the tap running and Tony speaking quietly to JARVIS; the lights came up a tiny amount. 

When Tony shuffled back to bed, the light of the reactor had gone dim. Steve frowned. Tony had put on pajamas. He sat on the edge of the bed and held out the glass of water. Steve sat up a little against the headboard and waited. Tony held out the glass. Steve waited. (Aren’t you going to--?) Tony didn’t move. Steve reached out to take the cup.

Okay, he really was thirsty! Steve drank and drank, until he’d drained the entire cup. He sighed and set it aside on the nightstand. 

“How are you feeling?” Tony asked softly.

“Mmmm,” Steve murmured and started to settle back into the bed, wanting to reach out and pull Tony down against him, but the water had helped wake him up a bit and . . . something wasn’t right. Steve blinked. Tony—Tony’s expression was strange, blank and neutral, his body tense. He looked like he was about to face a firing squad, unwilling to give anything away. Steve shivered. It was a horrible image.

“Are you okay?” Steve asked, his brow furrowing.

“Me? _I’m_ fine,” Tony said, a little incredulously. “Are . . . are _you_ okay?” 

Steve reached out to caress Tony’s cheek. “I’m great.”

“Great?”

Steve faltered. “Uh, yeah?”

Tony was studying him intensely in the dim light. That horrible blankness was gone, but he looked worried and uncertain.

Steve bit his lip, then asked, his voice gentle as he held his arms open, “Could you—could you please come here? And get back in bed with me?”

Tony let out a shuddering breath and gave a tight nod. Steve held back the covers and pulled Tony into his arms. (Usually Tony was big spoon, but not right now…) 

“Are you sure you’re all right?” Tony asked again, words muffled against Steve’s bare chest. 

Steve nodded, then realized Tony couldn’t really see it. “Tony, I feel wonderful.” 

They held each other quietly for a few long moments before Tony stirred. Steve wanted to protest when he moved, thinking Tony wanted to put distance between them, but really he was just shifting up the bed, rearranging them so that Steve was cradled in his arms. (Huh.)

“Do you think you can talk about it?” Tony asked. (It?) Steve thought back, sifting through memories (beautiful, perfect, amazing) of last night. Had he done something wrong? (No—Tony had said the opposite: “so perfect . . . so good for me. . . good boy. . .”) Steve flushed with embarrassment as he remembered crying all over Tony, then jolted. (Oh shit!)

Tony was still talking: “I want to know, to understand, what went wrong. Whatever it was, we need to talk about it . . . before making any—“ he paused. His voice was heavy. “-- major decisions.” 

(Shit, shit, shit! Words, Rogers! Come on!) Steve opened his mouth, but Tony rushed on.

“Was it just the accumulation that was too much?” Tony asked. “Or did I touch on a specific trigger? Or was it something else?”

“Yes! No!” Steve couldn’t keep up with Tony’s questions. (Shit!) “Wait.” Steve shook his head to clear it. “Wait. Sorry, I—” Steve paused, trying to put his thoughts in order. 

“Tony, uh,” Steve began awkwardly. He could feel Tony brace, as if for a blow. “I really don’t know. I—you’re talking about the crying thing, right? Yeah. Sorry about that. I--”

“Jesus, Steve! You have nothing to apologize for. I—I’m sorry. I should have--”

“Tony!” (Huh. That came out kind of ‘Captain America.’)

Tony went silent. 

“I wasn’t upset with you, Tony. Or really even upset. Not exactly. I just . . .” Steve bit his lip. “It was just a lot to take in, I guess.” 

“It was too much, wasn’t it?” Tony asked. And how could he sound so guilty and so relieved at the same time? “I shouldn’t have—”

“Tony.”

Tony went silent again, but Steve could practically _feel_ how hard it was for him to stay quiet. It was like holding his finger in a dam.

“Tony,” Steve repeated softly, running his hand up and down Tony’s chest through his pajamas. (Don’t hide from me again. Don’t cover up the arc reactor. I love you.) “It was a lot, but it wasn’t too much. It was perfect.” 

“But I—“

“Shhhh….” Steve murmured. “It was perfect.” He took Tony’s hand and squeezed it. “Do you hear me? It was perfect.” 

“I—“ Tony’s voice was full of protest, but then he sort of sank back, muscles going lax. “Okay.” 

In the dim light of Tony’s bedroom, they fell silent, exchanging reassuring, inquisitive little touches, affectionate but not erotic. Tony’s hands were calloused from working in his lab; Steve savored the feeling of the little rough spots scratching across his skin. (So perfect . . . so good for me. . . ) Steve felt a wave of guilt.

“Tony?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m so sorry I worried you.” Steve frowned. “I can’t believe I fell asleep like that.”

Tony squeezed his shoulder. “It’s okay.” 

They were still and silent for a few long moments before Tony spoke again. 

“Steve?”

“Mmm?”

“Can you tell me about it?”

“You mean. . . why I was, um, crying?”

“Yeah.” Tony waited only a few seconds before offering a few theories, as though he couldn’t quite resist: “Was it just coming out of subspace?” Steve blinked. (Huh?) Tony continued, “Or the overall stimulation aggregate? Or did I—” Tony broke off abruptly, then added, “Uh, yeah. Can you tell me about it?”

“I dunno. It wasn’t any of those things, I don’t think.” Steve squirmed.

“I just . . . after, uh, you restrained me . . . it felt more and more like floating or maybe being under water, but in a good way like _you_ were the water and you were holding me everywhere at once and nothing else could . . .” (Hurt me. Matter.) “—could get in. Or something.”

Part of Steve wanted to look at Tony’s expression and try to read his response, but another equally powerful part wanted to blush and tuck his face into the crook of Tony’s arm. Steve didn’t move. Tony laid his hand on Steve’s cheek and ran his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone.

“That sounds like subspace, sweetheart.” (Sweetheart!) Steve wanted to purr. (Yeah, I really like that. . . ) “Lots of people who—” Tony paused, considering, “who like what you like have that kind of feeling.” 

(Huh. “Subspace.” Okay.)

“Did—“ Tony hesitated, “did you crash when you came down? When you came out of that floating feeling?” 

“Maybe? I don’t know,” Steve said softly. “I’m not actually sure I came out of it before I fell asleep. I still, kinda, had the swimming feeling while I was, um . . . but I—“ Steve cut himself off and let out a frustrated little noise. “It’s hard to put in words.” 

Steve fell silent, awkward and flustered. (Stupid, that’s stupid.) He focused on the feeling of Tony’s hand against his cheek, the warm body against his--though, sadly through pajamas. 

“Can you try? For me?” Tony asked a moment later. Steve sighed and nodded. He thought for a while, then took a deep breath and tried again.

“I could still think while I was floating,” Steve said slowly. “It was like everything was blurry but I was still clear headed in another part of my mind or something.” He sighed. “That probably doesn’t make sense. It was kinda like that even after I started—uh, until I fell asleep.” (Seriously, you already cried all over him—you can say ‘crying.’ Geeze.) 

“But the longer I was floating, the more I—” Steve swallowed and his voice dropped. “Tony, it felt like you were _everywhere_ and everything you did-- every touch, every gesture, every word-- made me feel so good and so _loved_ and I never thought . . .” 

Steve could feel his eyes starting to prickle again. (No, damn it!)

“I never thought that I’d get to touch or be touched by someone who loves me. . . who I love like this.” Tony shivered. Steve took a shaky breath and forced himself to continue, his voice soft: “I’ve known I’m not really broken or sick for a while—I mean, I’ve _thought_ that, but suddenly I just felt . . . it felt real.” Steve squeezed his eyes shut and felt a tear roll slowly down his cheek. He wouldn’t move to wipe it away. 

“Steve, I—” Tony’s voice hitched. Very gently, he caressed Steve’s face, wiping away the solitary tear. Tony whispered, “I don’t know what to say.”

Steve smiled a little. “You don’t have to say anything.” 

The silence stretched on, long but not oppressive. Just as Steve was considering drifting back to sleep nestled in Tony’s arms, Tony spoke:

“I love you, Steve.”

And he’d known since the first time Tony kissed him, maybe even before then, that Tony loved him, but hearing Tony say the words gave Steve an unexpected thrill. He’d already figured that Tony found the words hard to say—or perhaps, thought talk was cheap—and Steve hadn’t really been expecting to hear them like this. (I know you love me! You don’t have to say it if it’s hard . . . but, I do like it . . .) Steve smiled and gave Tony a little squeeze. 

“I love you too,” Steve answered, but the words sounded oddly hollow and insufficient in reply. 

Steve took a long breath. “Tony, I—” He hesitated. “I thank God every day for the crazy miracle that brought me forward to you. To this time where I can love you and be loved by you.” 

Tony took a sharp little breath and Steve tensed. (Shit! You know better than to mention God to Tony! Idiot.) But then Tony ruffled Steve’s hair playfully and said in a teasing voice: “Miracle? Pretty sure it was technology, Cap.”

Steve relaxed back into Tony’s embrace. (Okay, probably pressing my luck here, but . . .) Steve smiled softly at Tony and reached out to lay his hand over the arc reactor.

“I’m not so sure there’s a difference.”

The End (for now)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 of the Surrender Series is now complete! (phew!) If you’d like to know more about the Surrender series, please drop by my livejournal. (Same username: the_kinky_pet.) I have notes for three more stories to come and ideas for various vignettes in which I promise you: more feelings, more sex, more talking about feelings, more talking about sex, more Pepper, the Avengers, the Avengers Assembling, some hurt and some comfort. 
> 
> I’m honored, touched, thrilled, and frankly more than a little astonished by the overwhelmingly kind support I’ve received while writing this. Thank you all for the tremendous kindness and encouragement. It really means the world to me.


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